Another Brick in the Wall
by bambers2
Summary: Sam's new English teacher is making his life a living hell, and it's up to Dean to figure out why before it's too late for all the Winchesters...my first attempt at a Wee!chester! so please be kind
1. Chapter 1

_So i have several chapters of this story written and will be posting it quite frequently...hope everyone enjoys...please let me know what you think!! this is my first attempt at a Wee!chester and would love all feedback!! thanks for reading!! bambers;)_

_Another Brick in the Wall_

_Chapter One_

_When we grew up and went to school_

_There were certain teachers who would hurt the children anyway they could_

_By pouring their derision upon anything we did_

_exposing any weakness however carefully hidden by the kids . . ._

_Another Brick in the Wall – Pink Floyd_

The door to the classroom swung open, and a tall man with dark wavy hair entered the room. He strolled to the chalkboard, picked up a piece of chalk, and began writing his name on the board. When he was finished, he pivoted around to face the class, a bright smile lingering on his face as he looked around the room, his attentive blue-eyed gaze studying each and everyone in the class.

"Good morning, class. My name is Lyle Owen Modedey and I will be your teacher for the remainder of the year. Mrs. Darien unexpectedly resigned her post, due to health issues."

Mr. Modedey took a seat, rested his elbows on the desk, and stroked his long angular jaw thoughtfully as he once again peered around the room. "Mrs. Darien left a homework assignment for each you last night, can you please pass it forward now."

He watched intently as the students opened their folders, and pulled out sheets of paper to turn in to him. His gaze then trailed to the young man in the back of the room, and saw him squirm and sink down into his seat. Lyle glanced at his seating chart, and then back at the boy sitting in the last seat in the fourth row. Clearing his throat, Lyle called out, "Sam Winchester."

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not one who liked to draw attention to himself, he couldn't help the rise of color in his cheeks knowing why the new teacher had singled him out. "Yes, sir," he replied in a low tone, sinking further into his seat as the whole class turned to stare at him.

"I couldn't help but notice that you failed to turn in you assignment. Do you have an excuse, or do you think you are above doing such menial tasks?"

"Had a family emergency, sir." He didn't elaborate even though he knew the teacher was waiting for a better response. How did you tell your teacher you couldn't finish your homework because you had to salt and burn the spirit of some damn thirteen-year-old girl who decided it sounded like kicks to kill three innocent people by pushing them down a flight of steps?

"Do you have a note?" Mr. Modedey smirked, and Sam could tell he was enjoying taunting him.

"A note?" Sam felt a tightness in his chest, his lungs burning as he tried to draw in a breath.

"Yes, Sam. A note. You know, something written on a piece of paper, preferably by your parent." Mr. Modedey raised a quizzical brow, his grin widening as the other kids in the classroom started chuckling. "Are you sure you don't belong in remedial studies instead of AP English?"

Wincing, Sam's ab muscles clenched tightly, feeling as if someone was slamming a sledge hammer against his stomach.

"Is there a problem, Sam?" Lyle leaned further over the desk, his taunting smirk still prevalent. "Do I need to speak slower?"

Laughter erupted in the classroom, all eyes on Sam waiting for his response.

"No, sir," Sam replied between gasping breaths. "Haven't got a note."

Mr. Modedey cleared his throat again, and returned his attention to the rest of the classroom. "Class, I am afraid that our friend, Sam, feels he is above doing such menial tasks as homework." His gaze lingered on Sam for another moment, and Sam felt his face flush with anger as the other students continued to laugh.

Lyle continued onward as if he hadn't noticed the hateful scowl directed at him. "So I am afraid the rest of you are going to have to make up for his lack of enthusiasm toward his studies." The laughter died on Sam's classmate's lips as they heard Mr. Modedey say that, and they turned to glared at Sam. "So tomorrow, on top of your normal homework assignment, I would like a seven thousand word essay on the importance of being a team player."

"That's not fair," Sam's classmate, Kevin Sanderson, growled. "Why the hell do we all have to suffer cause Winchester over there is a freakin' loser?" All the students nodded in agreement with Kevin. "He doesn't belong in here with the rest of us, anyway. Never gets his homework in on time. Sleeps in class. Just a waste of space if you ask me."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk . . . such dissension in the ranks will not be tolerated in my classroom," Mr. Modedey glanced at his class seating chart, and then at Kevin. "For all you know, Mr. Sanderson, Sam might be a night watchman somewhere and needs his beauty sleep in class." Crossing his arms, he leaned back, his chair squeaking loudly in the dead silence of the room. He once again sought out Sam. "Well, Sam, are you a night watchman?"

When Sam failed to respond after a few moments, Lyle added, "Come now, Sam, the classroom is waiting with bated breath to learn of your exciting nightly escapades. Do you hunt down wanted criminals in the dark of night? Or is there a far less interesting reason why you fall asleep in class? They need to understand why they are being held accountable for a slacker in their midst."

Sam met his new teacher's watchful gaze, and tried to remain outwardly calm although he desperately wanted to fly across the room and slam both his fists into the man's smug face. "No, I'm not a night watchman, sir," he ground out through clenched teeth, finding it increasingly harder to breathe, as the pain inside his chest escalated.

"Ah, then perhaps you are honing your skills to become the best damn burglar this town has ever had the displeasure of knowing? Is that it, Sam? Come on, share the details," Lyle goaded, raising his brows until they nearly disappeared beneath his shaggy bangs. "Do you stealthily creep into people's homes while they are away, stealing and destroying their property?"

Grimacing, Sam swiped at the sweat dripping down his forehead, and then brusquely raked his fingers through his hair. He leaned forward in his seat, clutchin his stomach with both arms, feeling as if he might throw up at a moment due to the overwhelming pain he was feeling. "Can I go to the nurse, Mr. Modedey?" Sam asked, swallowing down the bile rising in his throat. "I'm really not feeling well."

"No, you can not. Not until you answer the question."

"Video games," Sam hastily replied, and waited for another scathing comment about the lie he'd just told. It was the first thing to come to mind, and he knew it was bound to elicited more trouble for himself and his classmates. But at this point he didn't care, he just wanted to get the hell out of the classroom before he puked all over the floor, and made a bigger fool out of himself than the teacher was already doing.

"Oh, you can do better than that, Sam. If you're gonna lie, at least make it believable." Mr. Modedey returned his attention to the class. "As Mr. Winchester has decided to take up all our class time today, I have decided to make that an eight thousand word essay on what you really believe Sam does in those nightly hours that causes him to sleep in class the following day. Extra credit goes to the person with the best idea."

Kevin leaned over and snarled, "Nice job, Winchester. Why don't you and your whole freak family go back to wherever the hell you came from?"

Sam was about to respond, but his stomach lurched so violently, he found himself clamping his hand down forcefully on his mouth as he flung himself out of his seat, and bolted for the door. He'd barely made it outside the classroom when his legs gave out, and he crashed to the floor, puke spewing from his mouth to splatter sickeningly on the ground.

"Oh, gross," exclaimed a girl who was walking by.

Sam glanced up at her for a second through teary eyes, humiliated as he noticed it was Brandy Stewart, the most popular girl in tenth grade, and also the girl that he'd had a crush on since starting at Roth Senior High School.

From inside the classroom, Sam heard his new teacher say, "Well, apparently Sam is not only a slacker in class, but also a closet alcoholic as well. Let him be an example to all the rest of you as to the dangers of late night drinking. Hangovers are not pleasant."

"That sonuva — " Sam's words were lost as another round of nausea overwhelmed him, stomach cramping tightly, and he heaved even more violently then before.

Swiping the back of his hand across his lips, Sam inched away from the puke on the ground and rested against the cool green tiled wall. He waited there until after the bell had rung and all the students had filed out of the classroom, laughing and jeering as they passed him by.

Slowly, he got to his feet, sidestepped the mess on the ground, and headed back into the class to retrieve his book bag, purposely keeping his eyes averted from Mr. Modedey. At this point, he just wanted to get his stuff and hightail it out of school before the whole student body learned of his early afternoon pukefest.

He could feel the weight of the older man's stare on his back as he bent to grab his bag off the

ground, and crammed his books inside it. When he turned to leave, Mr. Modedey stopped him.

"From this point forward, Sam, I expect all your homework to be turned on time." He eyed Sam for a moment, the same smirking grin plastered to his face. "You may have wormed your way through this class up until now, but things change, and I will not tolerate slackers of any sort."

Sam swallowed hard against the biting insult that was forming on his lips, knowing it would just get him in more trouble. "Yes, sir."

"As for your assignment, I have decided I want you to write about where you see yourself in ten years. Hopefully the words prison or 'do you want fries with that, sir', will not accompany the paper." He chuckled.

"Was actually thinking law school," Sam muttered, without really thinking about it.

"Oh, high hopes, Sam. Don't see it happening, but one can always dream."

"Are we finished here." Sam trembled with scarcely controlled rage at the continual insults directed at him by his horrible excuse for a teacher.

"Yes, I think we are, for now." Lyle leaned back in his seat, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Just remember, I am keeping my eye on you."

"Comforting thought," Sam flung the words back over his shoulder as he trudged from the room, and heard the teacher's derisive laughter.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam rushed in the door, hurried to his room, slammed the door behind him, and threw his school books on the bed. Standing in front of the mirror, he peeled off his flannel shirt to get a better look at the deep purplish welts on the side of his stomach and chest.

As he stood staring at the hideous looking bruises, wondering exactly how they'd gotten there, his older brother, Dean, came barreling in the door.

"What the hell, Dean. Door closed means I want privacy, for Christ's sake."

"Aww . . . Sammy, it's not like you have a girl in here." Dean's grin turned rapidly to a frown as he caught sight of the bruises Sam was so desperately trying to hide from him. "What happened?" His fists clenched tightly as he imagined someone picking a fight with his kid brother.

Stalking over to him, Dean grabbed hold of his arm, and swung Sam to face him. His breath caught in his throat as he saw Sam's chest and stomach covered in bruises. "Who the hell did this to you?" he fumed, barely controlling his temper.

"Don't know, Dean." Averting his gaze from his brother's questioning eyes, Sam shuffled his feet, embarrassed that his brother always assumed someone was beating up on him.

"Don't give me that shit, Sammy. How could you not know who beat the crap outta you."

Sam shrugged free of his brother's grasp, his own anger flaring. "No one beat the shit outta me, Dean. I can take care of myself. Have been doing it for a long time now." He stormed to the bed, and flopped down onto it, letting out a deep aggravated groan. Wasn't it bad enough that he'd had to put up with Mr. Modedey's jeering insults? Now his own brother was adding to his crappy-assed day by insinuating he couldn't take care of himself.

"What happened?" Dean tried again in a more rational tone.

Shaking his head, Sam replied, "Don't know. One minute I was fine, in AP English, next thing I know I have all these bruises."

He didn't bother to mention his new teacher or how Mr. Modedey seemed to have it in for him all due to one missed homework assignment. Nor did he mention his embarrassing trip into the yuking hall of fame. No, Dean definitely didn't need to know his kid brother threw up all over the hallway of the school. It was bad enough that little tid-bit of information made the rounds before Sam was able to skip out of school.

"An' no one touched you?" Dean was having a hard time believing what his brother was saying. "An' you didn't fall or anything like that?"

Again, his brother shook his head. "No. They just appeared."

"You're sure you didn't blackout or somethin' like that?"

"Dean, I'm telling you, I was fine. Just all of the sudden got these sharp burning pains, felt as if my lungs were on fire, and couldn't catch my breath. When I looked later, they were there."

"Well, they had to come from somewhere." Through shaded lids, Dean peered at his brother's injuries again, noting that the worst of them seemed to be centralized around his upper chest near his heart. "Maybe we should tell Dad about this."

"No. I wanna finish up one school year in the same place I started."

"Dad would want to know, just in case it's something — "

"Don't say it, Dean. This isn't something we hunt."

"You can't be sure of that," Dean tried to reason, but knew his brother had his mind made up, and was determined not to listen. "I mean, bruises don't just show up outta nowhere. Something causes them, and if you can't see what did this to you, then it sounds pretty damn supernatural to me."

"Maybe I was just allergic to something I ate." Sam eased himself down into a lying position on the bed, wincing as he did so.

"I'm not buying that, dude. You've never been allergic to anything a day in your life. So why now?"

"Dunno. Can't we let this drop, I just want to sleep."

Dean had no intention of letting the subject drop, but for now he would concede to let his brother think he had. However, tomorrow was another matter entirely. And whether his little brother liked it or not, Dean planned on being Sam's constant shadow until he found out what was hurting him.

"What do you want me to tell Dad?"

"That I'm not feeling good." Rolling onto his side, Sam groaned as he clutched onto his stomach. "It's near enough to the truth." Before closing his eyes to try and get some rest, he muttered, "Wake me in a few. Got a paper to write."

"Okay, Sammy." Dean watched his brother for a long time, noticed that his panted breaths had evened out, and finally heard him softly snoring. Silently walking to the window, he pulled down the shade so the late day sun wouldn't disturb his brother, and left the room, having no intention of waking his brother who sorely needed his rest after their most recent hunt.


	2. Chapter 2

_new chappy up!! thanks for reading and all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Two_

Sam awoke with a start at the sound of the alarm, glanced at the clock, and noticing it was six am, let out a stream of curses his brother would be proud of. "Damn it, Dean. Why the hell didn't you wake me?" he yelled to his brother who was sleeping in the bed opposite of him in the tiny room they shared.

A shiver of panic raced through him as he thought of Mr. Modedey and his unfinished eight thousand word paper.

"Unfinished, hell, I haven't even started it yet." He glared at his brother who had just lifted his head a few inches off his pillow. "Told you to wake me, Dean. Told you I had homework to do."

"Huh?" Dean tiredly rubbed his eyes, and then glanced at the clock. "Damn, Sammy, it's only six in the morning."

"Yeah, six in the morning as in school starts in an hour. As in I asked you to wake me up well before six in the morning."

Dean rolled on his side, and sat up in bed to watch Sam stalk round the room gathering his clothes and books together in a hurry. "What's the big freakin' deal, dude, so you slept in a little. Just tell your teachers you were sick." Stretching, he yawned loudly, and ruffled his fingers through his short cropped hair. "That's what I always do. Works like a charm."

Sam stopped what he was doing for a moment and stared incredulously at him. "What the hell kinda homework could you possibly have? A twenty freakin' word essay on the meaning of torque? I mean seriously, do they give you extra credit if you use words with more than one syllable?"

"Huh, will have to ask cause I'm sure I used the words perpendicular and rotation on that essay." Dean chuckled, not in the least insulted by the comment.

"You don't even get it do you, Dean?" Sam fumed, his face flushing with anger. "I had an eight thousand word essay due today. Eight thousand words!" Yanking his t-shirt over his head, he pulled his arms threw the sleeves. "An' I'm pretty damn sure, Mr. Modedey isn't gonna

accept — " Sam stopped speaking abruptly, noticing Dean staring at him oddly. "What the hell's the matter with you?"

Dean raised a quizzical brow, and bobbed his head toward Sam's chest. "The bruises. They're gone."

"What are you talking about?" Sam lifted his shirt, and glanced down at his chest and stomach, and noticed that Dean was right. "Told you it was a allergic reaction to somethin'," Sam said trying to make light of it, but even as the words left his mouth, the thought of welts just disappearing as if they never were, worried him. He knew what Dean was thinking. Knew it made them seem more supernatural in nature, and Sam didn't have the time to get into an argument about them, not with an eight thousand word essay due after lunchtime.

"Look, Dean, I gotta go. Got to get to school early an' try an finish this damn paper before seventh period."

Sam bent and snatch up his books off the floor, and headed for the door, not waiting to hear Dean's reply. He'd almost made it out the door when his brother's arm snaked around his upper arm and jerked him backward.

"Not so fast, Sammy, I'm driving you today."

"Don't need you to drive me. It's only three blocks to school," Sam tried to argue, but knew Dean's mind was made up by the determined gleam in his green eyes. And truthfully, if Dean did drive him, he would have more time to write his paper, so he gave in. "Fine, but you better be ready to go in like five minutes or I'm outta here."

"Just let me wash up a bit, an' brush my teeth, and we'll go." Dean pushed past him, and ran to get to the bathroom first.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam was sitting at the small kitchen table in their apartment, nervously tapping his fingers on his book, watching the clock anxiously, still waiting for Dean to get out of the bathroom so he could get in there to get himself ready to go. A few more seconds, and he was back on his feet, stalking to the bathroom, and pounding on the door. "Come on, Dean. I gotta get in there."

When Dean failed to respond, Sam pounded even harder, rattling a few pictures on the wall that had been left behind by the previous tenants. Finally he heard the water turn off, and a few seconds later, Dean opened the door, and casually strolled out.

"It's all yours, dude, but hurry up cause I don't wanna be late." He smirked. "If there's one thing Dean Winchester isn't, it's tardy." Chuckling, Dean headed for the kitchen to get something to eat for breakfast.

"Yeah, right." Sam rushed into the bathroom to get ready, and within ten minutes reemerged.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam and Dean entered the building just as the bell for first period rang. Sam silently cursed under his breath, kicking himself for agreeing to drive to school with school with his brother who had never been on time once since they'd started there. After they signed in at the office, Dean headed off to auto shop, muttering something about rebuilding an engine.

Sam sprinted off toward his calculus class at the other end of the building. Rounding the corner, he slammed directly Mr. Modedey. His books flew out of his hands and landed with a loud clatter on the ground. Without offering a word of apology, he stooped to retrieve them, but Lyle stepped on one of them, and Sam's gaze was drawn back upwards to him.

Mr. Modedey glanced at his watch, and clucked his tongue in an irritating fashion. "Late to class, Mr. Winchester? And running in the halls?" He shook his head. "I'm sure you know that is not permitted."

"I was . . . I um — "

"Ah, using that expansive vocabulary you've attained from all your hard years of studying, I see."

Cocking a brow, Mr. Modedey crossed his arms in front of himself, and waited for Sam to respond. "Did you by chance go to a vocational school before transferring to Roth?"

"Have a test in calculous, Mr. Modedey, can I please have my book back," Sam said, trying to keep the bitterness from his tone.

"Guess you should've thought of that before you decided to show up late." Mr. Modedey turned on his heel, and gestured for Sam to follow him. "Come with me, Sam."

"But, sir, my test — "

"If you were that concerned about your test, you would be in there taking it right now. But in stead, you've chosen to go the slacker route once again. Now follow me."

Reluctantly, Sam snatched up his remaining books, and fell in line behind his teacher. They turned right and headed for Mr. Modedey's classroom. Sam kept his vision trained on the ground, knowing that the few student's milling around in the hallway were staring at him. Angrily, he wondered why his teacher didn't bother to confront them on their tardiness.

Once inside Mr. Modedey's classroom, he motioned for Sam to take a seat in he front row, and took a seat behind his own desk. Pulling out a thick file from one of the drawers, he flipped it open, and started studying the pages.

Sam glanced up at the clock, and realized his teacher had no intention of letting him get to his calculous class, and turned to glare at him.

"Yes, Mr. Winchester, do you have something you would like to say?" Lyle asked, without looking up at him.

"I have a test, sir. One I can't make up."

"Should have thought of that before you decided to come to school late, now shouldn't you have, Sam?"

Sam didn't bother answering, knew whatever he said would just make matters worse. Mr. Modedey had taken a immediately dislike to him, and he doubted the fact that he was an A student who had never gotten in any sort of trouble, would persuade the teacher to think otherwise.

Mr. Modedey, closed the thick file, folded his arms and rested them on top of it. Leaning over the desk, he stared intently into Sam's eyes, silently daring Sam to look away. "I've taken it upon myself to take a look into your transcripts after yesterday's interruption of my class, Sam, and find them quite interesting."

"My transcripts, sir." Gulping down a deep breath, Sam swallowed hard, suddenly feeling as if his lungs would explode from lack of oxygen. Sweat beaded on his brow, and dripped down into his eyes.

"Yes, quite interesting to find that you have transferred from more than twenty schools since you started."

"Father's j-job requires we move a lot." Sam lied, wiping the sweat from his brow. He felt a twinge of pain behind his eyes, and squinched them closed against the growing ache in his temples.

"Ah, yes, I can see how being an auto mechanic would require a lot of moving around. It must be so tough finding cars to repair these days." Lyle licked his lips, a derisive smirk on his face. "Couldn't possibly be as easy as finding work as say, oh, I don't know, an ice fisherman perhaps, where work abounds." His teacher leaned back against his chair and laced his fingers behind his head, smiling at Sam. "Abound means plentiful, in case you didn't know."

"I k-know what it means, sir," Sam choked out, his throat constricting painfully as his stomach and chest burned with pain.

"Oh, that's right, you're an A student, I nearly forgot," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your brother, Dean, appears to be as shiftless as your father," he went on to say as if he hadn't just insulted Sam, "Failed tenth grade, barely scraping by this year. Absent from school twenty-four days the first half of the year, tardy . . . well, tardy nearly every day." He shrugged, glancing up at Sam. "Guess it's true about the apple not falling far from the tree."

"B-brother's not shiftless," as Sam said this, he cringed, another wave of pain crashing over him with tidal force. He doubled over in his seat, fearing he might throw up again.

"And then there's you." He tapped his finger on Sam's file, and then his determined gaze sought out Sam, swooping in for the kill. "I find it truly amazing that you can be an A student with as many sick days as you've had since the beginning of the year. Not as many as your brother, mind you, but enough to set of my radar that something might be going on in your household."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw a familiar figure pass by the doorway, and turned just in time to see his brother back up to stand directly in front of the entrance. Sam's movement was not lost on the his teacher who also turned to look at Dean. Dean eyed Sam for a moment and then his steely gaze shifted to the teacher, a scowl forming on his lips.

"Yes, can I help you?" Mr. Modedey asked in a most pleasant tone.

"My brother, Sam, is supposed to be in calculous right now." Dean leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, and staring defiantly at the older man. "I've come to make sure he gets there."

"Well, as you can see, Sam is in detention right now, and isn't going anywhere until I say so." Although Lyle's tone remained calm and pleasant, the look he gave Dean was a definite challenge.

"The hell he isn't." Dean turned his head to Sam, and ordered, "Get your stuff, Sammy. I'm taking you home, you look like shit."

Sam wanted desperately to go with his brother, but feared that if he did the next time he went to English class things would be far worse than they were now. "M'okay, Dean," he said in a shaky voice which elicited an even more fierce protective look on his brother's face.

"Sam, if you don't get your stuff together this minute, I'm gonna come in there and haul your ass outta that classroom."

Hearing this, Mr. Modedey shifted in his seat to look at Sam, the simpering smile never wavering from his face. "Now that you mention it, he does look sort of ill. Sam, should have told me. Had I known, I would have sent you to the nurse's office."

"I . . . I can leave then?" Sam asked warily, knowing that he was going to pay dearly for his brother's intrusion later.

"Of course you can." He motioned for Dean to come in and help Sam get his books and book bag together. "You really should have spoken up, and said you weren't feeling well. I was so busy with my paperwork, I failed to notice." He hesitated for a moment, and then added, "Please forgive me. Being a new teacher, I sometimes get lost in all the workload, but I am sure you understand, don't you, Sam?"

Sam noticed the subtle tick in the man's right cheek and the narrowing of his dark eyes, a clear warning of what would happen if he spoke out against him. "Yeah." was all he could manage to say, his stomach tempting to revolt at any moment.

Dean stalked to Sam's desk, grabbed his book bag, and help Sam to his feet. Wrapping his arm around Sam's back, he helped him to the door. Once there, he turned and eyed the teacher, a look of clear warning crossing his features. "Next time, Sam is supposed to be in a class, and I find him in _detention_ with you, believe me, I'm not gonna be so nice about it. Understood?"

"Perfectly." The boys were just about to leave, when Mr. Modedey called out, "Sam, if you are leaving school, I will need both of your homework assignments now."

"Both?" Sam uttered, then glanced at Dean, a pained expression on his face, knowing full-well that Mr. Modedey wasn't going to accept his excuse of being ill as a reason not to finish his assignments.

"Yes, both. Your essay and the regular assignment that was posted on the board. He gestured to the blackboard, and underneath his name was the other assignment. "You do have them, right?"

"No." He shook his head, causing the ache in his temples to throb even more viciously. "Wasn't feeling well."

"Then I am afraid you will have to receive an F for both papers, Sam. Can't show favoritism, now can I?" Lyle pursed his lips, the corners of his eyes wrinkling at the faint smile he graced Sam with. "You understand, don't you?"

Sam saw the challenge, knew Mr. Modedey wanted him to argue, wanted Sam to plead with him to reconsider, but knew nothing he said would any difference to this man. So instead he replied, "Perfectly," mimicking the derision he'd heard in the teacher's voice since the moment he'd met up with him in the hallway.

"Very well, I shall see you tomorrow then. Feel better and get some rest." He smiled one last time at Dean, and then resumed with his paperwork.


	3. Chapter 3

_Next chapter updated!! thanks for all the awesoe reviews!! they mean everything to me!!let me know what you think so far!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Three_

"So you gonna tell me about this new teacher, Sammy?" Dean asked, casting a sidelong glance in his little brother's direction, not liking how pale and sickly Sam appeared. "Seemed like a real ass to me."

"Don't wanna talk about it." Sam drew up his long legs so they rested on the edge of the front seat of the Impala, and held on firmly to his stomach.

Not wanting to press the point while his brother looked as if he might throw up at any moment, Dean instead asked, "Did you eat anything this morning?"

"Wasn't feelin' well."

"So, you didn't eat anything last night, and nothin' this morning either? What's wrong with you?"

"Nothin'," Sam replied in a tone that clearly implied that he wanted to drop the subject.

"I'll accepted that answer for now, geekboy, but only cause I don't want you puking all over my car."

Taking a quick left on Bruckners Street, Dean turned into the driveway of the apartment complex they were living at, and pulled into the parking spot next to his father's brand new truck. A smile slid across his features as he gingerly caressed the steering wheel, reveling in the fact that the Impala was now his baby.

Sam moved forward in his seat, and peered out the window at his father's vehicle, and then sunk down in his seat. "Dad's home."

"Yeah, it's Thursday."

If it were even possible, Sam crouched down even further in the seat. "Thursday?"

Dean bobbed his head in Sam's direction, chuckling. "Careful there, dude, any further an' you're gonna be on the floor."

"Very funny, jerk." Sam peered over the top of the dashboard, looking in the window of their apartment, searching for any movement coming from inside. "So why's he home?"

"Memory failing you at such a young age, Sammy?" Dean raised a questioning brow, knowing their father had told them at least five times since Monday that he would be going to Rhode Island with Bobby to look into several suspicious attacks on people that coincided with the lunar cycle. "Werewolf, ring any bells?" He couldn't help the rise of irritation in his tone at the thought of not being allowed to go along.

His father had cited many reasons why he couldn't, but the one reason that stood out above all others was that he wanted Dean home with Sam to watch out for him. _Yeah, like he can't take care of himself. He's freakin' fifteen for Christ's sake. _

"Oh, yeah." Sam looked at his brother, a guilty expression on his face, hazel eyes rounding to form what Dean deemed his 'get Dean to forget whatever he's pissed about' look. "Sorry about that. Know you wanted to go."

"No biggie, dude, hunt one werewolf, you've hunted them all." _Yeah, like hell. Nothin' freakin' cooler than hunting a badass werewolf._ _But I get to stay home and play nursemaid to pukefest boy. _Dean chuckled as he recalled hearing from his friend, Steve Rogers, earlier that morning how Sam had thrown up all over the hallway floor the day before.

His grin faded away as he thought of the teacher who had held Sam in detention, certain that he knew Sam was sick. Something was definitely off about the guy, that much Dean knew for certain. And whatever it was, it had Sam a nervous wreck.

"What's that teacher's name?"

"Huh?" Sam asked, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

"That teacher who had you in detention. What's his name?"

"Mr. Modedey. Why?"

"Didn't like him, Sammy. Not one bit. Somethin's not right about him."

"He's just a teacher, Dean." Sam sighed wearily, averting his gaze from Dean's, and picking at the hole in the knee of his jeans.

"Yeah, an' I'm an A student, Sammy. You damn well better know that I'm gonna find out what's the deal with this guy."

"Can't you just let it go, dude?" Sam yanked on the handle, opening the door, and slowly got out of the car, still clutching onto his stomach. "You're not the one who has to face him every day in class, an' you're just gonna make matters worse for me." After saying this, Sam slammed the door behind him, and trudged up the cement steps leading into their apartment.

Dean sat in his car a moment longer, studying his brother as he walked inside, noting how Sam's shoulders drooped and that there was an air of unsureness in his steps that was so unlike his brother. He supposed that some of the reason for it could've been because he wasn't feeling well. But, he hadn't missed the overwhelming look of relief flooding his brother's features when he'd glanced up and saw Dean standing in the doorway of the classroom.

_Sorry, Sammy, but I just can't let this go. _

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam slipped quietly into the apartment, glanced around for his father, and hearing noise coming from the back bedroom, made a quick dash for his own room. Locking the door behind him, Sam threw his book bag on the floor, shrugged out of his hoodie, let it fall to the cluttered ground, and walk to the mirror. Carefully, he pulled his faded green t-shirt up over his head, and cast it aside, and then stood back to take a better look at the bruises that had now reappeared, grimacing as he noticed that they appeared even worse than the day before.

Thin trails of blood stretched across his stomach, looking suspiciously like deep scratch marks. Running his fingers along them, Sam winced, his stomach clenching tightly as a wave of nausea overwhelmed him. He gagged, covering his mouth with his hand, trying to quell the cramping pains threatening to overtake him.

Taking slow deep breaths, he felt his muscles slacken, and the pain slightly subside. With one last glance in the mirror, he sunk to the floor, pushed backwards until he butted up against the bed, and drew his legs up to his chest.

_I can't let Dean see these. He'll never let me hear the end of it. And what if he decides to tell Dad? _

As if in answer to his thoughts, he heard the handle of the door wiggle, and when it didn't open, an angered rapping followed.

"Sammy, open the damn door," Dean called to him from the other side.

"Just a sec, Dean." Sam scampered to his feet, snatched his shirt off the floor, hastily threw it on, and rushed and opened it, standing back to let his brother enter.

Dean strolled confidently into the room, glanced at his for all of two seconds, bobbed his head in Sam's direction, and uttered, "Shirt's on inside out, dude."

"Must've put it on wrong this morning," Sam hastily replied, trying to cover for his mistake.

"You did, huh?" Dean's hawk-eyed gaze lingered on Sam's shirt for a moment, and then he gave a curt nod of his head. "Did you also bleed all over it this morning when I wasn't looking?"

"It's just a scratch, Dean."

"Sure it is," his brother replied, an air of disbelief in his tone, still not taking his gaze away from Sam. "So let me take a look."

"Why are you makin' a big deal about this. Said it was just a scratch."

"Not makin' a big deal about anything, dude. Just want to see it."

"No."

Dean crossed his arms, leaning back against the doorframe, his gazing turning menacing. "Sammy, don't make me have to hurt you just to get a look. Don't want to, but I will."

Sam stood stock-still for the longest time, knowing his brother meant every word he said, yet still not wanting his brother to see the hideous bruises and welts.

"So, do we have to do this the hard way, Sammy?" Dean pushed away from the doorframe, and stalked toward Sam. "Or are you gonna let me see?"

Quickly backing away, Sam shouted, "Fine," and yanked up his shirt. Hearing his brother's sharp intake of breath, and seeing the look of seething anger flash across his features, he quickly added, "It's really not as bad as it looks. Doesn't even hurt much."

"They were gone this morning, Sammy," Dean said in a ominously quiet manner. "Gone, and now they're back and worse than before. So don't sit here an' try to tell me they aren't bad."

Groping for a logical reason for the reappearance of the black and blues, Sam seized upon what he figured was a good answer. "It was kinda dark in here this morning. Must not have noticed them in the light."

Sam could tell Dean was trying to remain calm, but the subtle tick in his right cheek, and the rigidness of his stance gave him away.

"Did he touch you, Sam? Did he do this to you?" Dean took a measured step toward Sam, and Sam retreated further away. "Cause if he did, I'll kill him."

"No," Sam quickly replied, shaking his head, having no doubt in his mind that his brother would make good on his threat to harm Mr. Modedey. "The guy's a freakin' jerk, but he didn't lay a finger on me."

Any further argument Sam might've had was cut short by the deep authoritative voice of his father.

"Sam, get out here. Now."

Sam shot his brother an accusatory glare, and Dean shrugged, shaking his head.

"Didn't say a word. Should've, but I didn't."

"Then why the hell does he sound so angry?"

"Beats the hell outta me, but I wouldn't keep him waiting."

Slowly, Sam trudged to the door, and then glanced back at his brother, silently pleading with him to come along so he wouldn't have to face his father alone. At the best of times, he and his father had barely gotten along, and when angered both usually said things they didn't mean, and later regretted.

"You comin', Dean," he asked, when Dean made no effort to follow.

"You know I would never let you face Dad's anger alone." Dean smiled, and bobbed his head toward the door.

Sam headed out the door, down the short hallway, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Mr. Modedey and his principal, Ms. Hannagin, seated on the couch. His principal, who was tapping on a manilla file in her lap, glanced up, adjusted her wire-rimmed glass, and smiled at him. Mr. Modedey, however, appeared not to notice him at all as he continued to gaze around their sparsely furnished apartment. He nodded to himself, stroking his chin thoughtfully as if he'd found some valuable tid-bit of information that he could use against Sam.

His father sat with his back to Sam, posture rigid, and Sam was sure his Dad's keen hunter's gaze never strayed far from the intruders in their home. Yet, Sam was certain his father knew he was standing there, but Sam couldn't bring himself to move any further into the room.

"Lived here long, have you, Mr. Winchester?" Mr. Modedey asked, running his fingers along the frayed edges of the cushions.

"Long enough," John replied stoically, not offering any more information on the matter.

"John . . . I can call you John, can't I?" Mr. Modedey finally glanced in Sam's direction, and raised a brow, a devious grin forming on his face.

"No." John replied simply.

"You see, John, we have been going over Sam's files," Sam's teacher went on to say as if he hadn't heard John, "and have found some disturbing oversights on our part."

"Such as?" John said, and Sam heard the unmistakable rise of irritation in his tone.

"Well," Ms. Hannagin broke into the conversation, opening the file on her lap, and gesturing to it, "for one, your son's absentee record." She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and Sam had no doubt it was because of the formidable man who sat across from her in the old reclining chair. "Lyle brought it to my attention this morning, and I have to admit my concern over the situation."

John gestured toward Mr. Modedey. "And you must be Lyle. How thoughtful of you to be digging into my son's records." The sarcasm in his tone was unmistakable.

"Just trying to help. I wouldn't be doing my job if I allowed one of my students to just slip through the cracks."

"I'm sure. Sam," his father called out to him, without turning around, "come in here, and Dean go back to your room."

"Dad — " Dean tried to protest, but John cut him off.

"Now, Dean."

"But, Dad, you don't understand."

"I said now, Dean."

Dean cast Sam an apologetic glance, shrugged and headed back to his room.

Reluctantly Sam complied, taking a seat next to Ms. Hannagin, edging as close to the armrest as he could possibly manage. He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his father's hard stare in his direction. A quiet understanding passed between them, and as John glanced at his watch, Sam knew he was angry at being taken away from his preparations for his hunt to deal with something he considered trivial.

"Sam, your teacher and principal were just explaining to me how they are overly worried about you, not wanting an A student to slip through the cracks as Mr. Modedey so aptly put it. Cause God only knows how an A student like yourself, with all A's needs to be looked after."

Sam clamped his mouth shut tight, having a hard time suppressing the laughter bubbling to the surface at his father's taunt. A sidelong glance in Mr. Modedey's direction told him that his teacher was beyond well beyond angry, cheeks flushing profusely, blue eye's glittering with fury.

"Well, that's not exactly true anymore, Mr. Winchester," Lyle calmly stated, although Sam could tell it took every ounce of effort on his part to keep his tone level. "I've had to take into consideration all his late assignments and also the two F's he just received on his last papers which now brings his grade in my class down to a D, so you see, we are justified in our concerns."

"D," both John and Sam said simultaneously.

"My son's never gotten anything below an A his whole life." John's fists clenched and unclenched, expression turning as hard as granite, and it appeared as if at any moment he might fly across the room and pulverize the simpering man sitting across from him.

"We're not trying to imply that your son isn't an exceptionally bright child, Mr. Winchester," Ms. Hannagin jumped in, trying to diffuse the situation before it blew out of control. "It's just that we can longer turn a blind eye to his tardiness on turning in his assignments. And there is also question of . . . ." she hesitated a moment, looking from John to Sam and back again, "the bruises several teachers have noticed on Sam after his supposed sick days."

John crossed his arms defensively in front of himself, and pushed forward in his seat. "So what are you trying to imply here, Ms. Hannigan? That I hit my son? That I'm an abusive parent?"

"We would never presume to imply anything, John." Mr. Modedey mimicked John, pushing forward in his own seat, the two men facing off in a silent battle of wits. "But as you see, Sam doesn't seem like the typical roughhouse teenager. More along the lines of bookwormish. I hate to use the word, _weak_, to describe him, but it seems the most appropriate word in this instance."

Ms. Hannagin placed a calming hand on Lyle's arm, then abruptly jerked back as if burned by the touch. A movement that wasn't lost on Sam, but he wasn't sure if his father had noticed as he was so wrapped up in his own anger.

"You'd be surprised at how strong he really is, and if you aren't careful maybe someday you may learn that first hand."

"I never meant to imply — "

"I'm not about to sit here and mince words with you, Lyle. My boys are my concern, and I'm not gonna take kindly to anyone messin' with them."

Hearing the thinly veiled threat, Sam's disbelieving gaze flew from his father to his teacher.

"Dad — " he tried to stop his father before things got any worse, but his Dad held up a warning hand to stop him.

"Not now, Sam."

Apparently sensing things were getting out of control, Ms. Hannagin loudly cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention to her. "Mr. Winchester, I know how important you son's grades are to both you and him, and as such, we've come up with a way for him as well as others to boost their grades back up."

"And how do you propose to do this?" John asked, a measure of well-laced distrust in his tone.

Sam's prinicpal clasped her fingers together, leaning forward in her seat to rest her elbows on her lap. "A school sponsored lock-in this weekend. Sam along with around ten or fifteen other children would have the opportunity to catch up on late homework as well as earning extra credit for assignments and for participating in the event."

"A lock-in?" both John and Sam uttered in unison.

"Yes, Sam." Ms. Hannagin turned in her seat and directed her next comments to him. "It wouldn't be all work. We've planned all sorts of activities to try and motivate as well as entertain you and your peers."

"And when is this supposed lock-in going to take place," John asked, drawing both Sam and his principal's attention back to him, and the look in his father's eyes told Sam he was clearly not happy about the idea.

"Friday night you could drop Sam off at the school, and pick him up Sunday morning."

"And if I don't allow him to participate?"

"Then his D stands in my class," Mr. Modedey said with a note of satisfaction.

Sam's stomach coiled in a knot, thinking how a D in English would reflect on his chances of getting into a good college. Deep down, he knew his father didn't want him to go to college, but for Sam it was a way out, and he desperately wanted a chance at it.

"I want to do it, Dad."

"We'll talk about it after they leave, Sam." John's steely gaze rested on Sam, and gave him a subtle shake of his head that clearly meant that there was no way in hell that Sam was going anywhere.

Ms. Hannigan opened her file, took out a piece of paper, and standing, handed it to John. "If you do decide to let him come, he needs this permission slip signed and returned by tomorrow morning."

"I'll give it some thought."

Mr. Modedey rose to stand. "Thank you for your time, John, I can see where your son get's his charming personality from. I do look forward to seeing him at the lock-in. Such a pleasant boy." And with that, he headed for the front door with Ms. Hannigan following close behind. At the entrance he swung back to look at Sam, eyeing him closely. "Do try and be on time to class tomorrow, would hate to have to give you another detention."

"I'll be on time, sir."

"Good." Cocking a sardonic brow, Mr. Modedey took one last glance around the apartment, then lowered his head to look at the ground, and kicked his foot across the trail of salt in front of the door, drawing both Winchesters' attention to it. Lyle chuckled. "Had a grandmother who believed in this sort of thing. Supposed to ward off evil isn't it?" He looked up at John, his grin widening. "Not the sort of man who believes in spooks and demons, are you, John? Not like a simple line of salt could keep out all things evil."

Without another word, or waiting for John to respond, Lyle strode out the entrance, with Ms. Hannagin lagging behind.


	4. Chapter 4

_So, should have posted this a while ago but been really busy, and just plain forgot...sorry!! hope everyone enjoys!! let me know what you think, reviews mean everything to me!! thanks for reading!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Four_

"You're not going, Sam, and that's my final word on the matter." John stood, glaring at Sam, the permission slip still clutched tightly in his powerful fist.

"I gotta go, Dad. You heard Mr. Modedey, I'll get a D in English if I don't," Sam argued, not about to back down, even in the face of his father's growing anger.

"I said, no," John said, his voice raising and brows pulling together to form a scowl. "You're staying home with your brother this weekend."

Undeterred, Sam continued onward, hoping his father would realize how important his grades were to him. "Dean doesn't need me here. Hell, for that matter, if I'm at school he can go with you. You know he wants to."

"Never said that, Sammy," came Dean's voice from directly behind Sam, startling him. "An' I agree with, Dad."

Sam swung to face him, eyes pleading with him to understand why he needed to go. Dean leaned against the doorframe, crossed his arms, gave a subtle nod toward Sam's stomach, and then shook his head.

"Don't give me that look, dude. It's not gonna work."

"The matter's settled." His father crumpled the paper, and tossed it in the garbage.

_Like hell the matter is settled. _Sam eyed the permission slip, resting on top of the saucy remains of last night's spaghetti dinner, and a plan started formulating in his mind. _He's gonna be gone. All I gotta do is get Dean to agree, and Dad won't even have to know I went. _But for his plan to work, he had to a least pretend not to give up so easily. His father would know something was up if he did.

"What are you gonna do, Dad? Stay home? Yeah, I'd love to see the day you'd stayed home from a hunt to actually take an interest in my life. Oh, yeah, that's right, I don't get to have a life. How freakin' stupid of me to think that getting a D in anything other than the ten ways to kill a demon would make you stand up and take notice."

"Think there's only four ways, Sammy." Dean cracked a grin. "We'll go over them this weekend. An' if makes ya feel any better, I'll give you a test at the end."

Sam turned to glare at his brother. "So not funny, Dean."

"Aww . . . sure it is." Dean's laughter filled the small livingroom, but after a few moments, he must have realized he was the only one laughing, and stopped, taking on a more serious expression. "Besides, Dad's right, I don't like that Modedey guy, and sure as hell wouldn't want you trapped inside a building with him alone for a whole weekend."

Sam inwardly cringed at the thought of being alone with Mr. Modedey as well, but outwardly he remained calm, not wanting his father or Dean to realize what he planned to do. "Thought you'd at least understand, Dean. Thought you knew how much the idea of getting into a good college meant to me." The words slipped out before Sam had a chance to stop them, and he instantly regretted them when he saw the looks on both his brother and father's faces.

"College," they both said simultaneously, both incredulous.

"Sam," his father said in a scarcely control manner, "you know what's out there. Know what we hunt. Know what that yellow-eye bastard did to your mother. How could you even think of going to college?" He shook his head. "It's not gonna happen, so get it out of you head now."

Looking to his brother for help, Sam saw that Dean seemed to be in total agreement with their Dad, and lowering his head, he gave a curt nod. Dean tried to catch his eye, but Sam refused to look at him. "Fine. Can I go to my room now, to plan out my illustrious career driving around to God only knows where to hunt God only knows what. Cause that is just want I want to do with my life."

"Yeah, Sam, go to your room."

John opened his mouth to say something more, but Sam stormed away without giving him the chance. Once in his room, he slammed the door shut, stalked to his bed, and threw himself down onto it. Anger seethed through every fiber of his being, knowing that his brother, who he'd thought he could always count on, turned against him and agreed with his Dad.

_I'm going to college. I don't care what either of them think. It's my freakin' life, not theirs. And I'm going to that lock-in this weekend even if I have to sneak out of the damn apartment._

He laid there for the longest time, so lost in his own anger that the knock at his door startled him and he nearly jumped off the bed. He heard his father's voice on the other side, but refused to answer.

"I'm leavin' Sam."

Sam turned his head toward the door, but didn't respond.

"Just wanted to say . . . I mean . . . have a good weekend, and be careful."

Although he didn't hear anything else for a few moments, he knew his father was still standing there, but he couldn't bring himself to say goodbye.

"Alright, then," his father said with a note of weariness. "Bye, Sam. Listen to your brother, and make sure the salt lines are in place in front of the doors and windows."

Waiting a few more minutes, Sam heard the front door open and then close. In an instant, he was on his feet, pacing back and forth, trying to figure out a way to convince Dean to go along with what he intended to do. A slight tug of guilt gnawed at him at the thought of deliberately disobeying his father's orders, and also for not saying goodbye, but he wasn't about to let that deter him. _If he would've just listened to me, I wouldn't have to be sneaking around. And besides, who freakin' has to sneak around to go to a school sponsored activity? That just goes to prove how screwed up this family truly is. _

He waited another ten or fifteen minutes, and then cautiously opened his bedroom door, peered out into the darkened hallway, and saw the light coming from the television in the livingroom.

Slowly, he made his way to the kitchen, careful not to wake his brother, whom he heard softly snoring on the reclining chair. Bending down, he rummaged through the garbage, searching for the permission slip, grimacing as his fingers slipped over the remnants of greasy burgers, and spaghetti sauce, but he couldn't find the paper. He dug down even further, knowing it had to be there, but still found nothing.

"Looking for this," came Dean's quiet voice.

Sam glanced up an saw Dean still facing the tv, with his hand aloft, the permission slip held firmly in his grasp.

"See, I know how your mind works, Sammy. Know that Dad telling you no, means very little when you set your mind to doing something."

"Dean, give it to me."

"Can't let you go, little brother. Just have a real bad feeling about that guy. And I'm rarely wrong about people."

Sam took a tentative step toward his brother. "There will be other teachers and students there. I have to go. I can't get a D in English. I just can't," he pleaded, hoping his brother would understand and relent.

"Sam," Dean sighed deeply, his hand falling to his side, "Dad is just trying to protect you, and so am I."

"Please, Dean?" Sam took anther step toward the chair where is brother was sitting, eyes glued to the paper in Dean's hand. "Dad doesn't even have to know. He won't be back till Sunday night at the earliest. I'll be home Sunday morning."

"Got it all planned out, don't ya, Sammy. Lie to Dad, have me lie to Dad, and for what? So that freakin' sonuvabitch can treat you like shit all weekend long?"

Sam swallowed hard, not liking how his plan sounded when it was said out loud by his brother, but he knew he had no other choice. "It won't be bad. The principal will be there. Mr. Modedey will have to be nicer when she's around."

"Yeah, I can see that. Mr. Modedey was a real peach today with her here. Thought Dad was gonna beat the crap out of him a few times."

"You were listening?"

"Course. Just cause Dad told me to go to my room, didn't mean I couldn't eavesdrop, now did it?"

Sam gave a curt nod in understanding. "So, you're not gonna let me go, are you?"

Dean turned in his seat to look Sam squarely in the eyes. "If I don't let you go, you're just gonna find a way to sneak out, right?" When Sam averted his gaze, Dean nodded, and continued, "Thought so. And it makes no difference to you that both Dad and I think it's a bad idea?"

"It does . . . I just . . . you don't understand."

"I understand you better than you think I do, Sammy. I know how tough it is for you moving around all the time. And I know how school and having good grades means everything to you." Dean hesitated for a few seconds, and then added, "But, it's not the most important thing in the world. Just think you should realize that."

"How can I not realize it, Dean. It's drilled into my freakin' head every day from both you and Dad."

"What happens if I let you go, and something happens to you?" Dean cocked a brow, and stared long and hard at Sam. "How do I explain that to Dad? It's my job to watch out for you."

"Nothin' gonna happen to me."

"You don't know that, Sammy. But nothin' I say is gonna make you change your mind, is it?"

Sam stood there for a moment, feeling a little guilty for not giving in and just staying home, but he wasn't about to chance his mind. Finally, he shook his head. "Gonna go no matter what, but would rather you understood, and not be angry at me."

"Not angry at you, dude." Dean held out his hand, and Sam took the permission slip. "I already signed Dad's signature. Just promise me one thing."

"Sure," Sam replied, feeling even more guilty now that he'd dragged his brother into his plan to sneak behind his father's back and do what he'd specifically told Sam not to do.

"You even have the smallest inkling that something's not right, or if Modedey even looks at you funny, I want you outta there. You got me?"

"Yeah. I gotcha."

"I'm serious, Sam."

The look in Dean's eyes told Sam that he already regretted his decision to allow him to go, so Sam quickly tried to reassure him. "I know, Dean, and I'll be careful."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam saw Mrs. Hannigan heading toward her office early the next morning, and hurried to catch up to her, to hand in his permission slip.

"Mrs. Hannigan," he called out to her, and she turned and smiled at him. He picked up his pace, and reached her within a few seconds. "Just wanted to give you this."

The principal glanced down briefly at the paper, then back up at Sam. "All permission slips go directly to Mr. Modedey, Sam." Tapping her finger on the face of her wristwatch, she continued, "He should be in his classroom right now if you want to take it to him."

Sam's stomach curled into knots thinking about having to encounter his teacher again so early in the morning. It was bad enough that he had to sit through a whole class with him later that day. "You couldn't just give it to him?"

"I have a meeting to attend, Sam, and am already running late," she said, and Sam detected a slight waver in her voice.

Dean was right, Mrs. Hannigan wasn't going to be any help at all. She was afraid of Mr. Modedey, he was almost certain of it. "Um . . . alright. Just thought . . . never mind."

Sam turned to head for Mr. Modedey's class, head hung low. Somehow what sounded like a good idea last night when he was trying to convince his brother, now seemed like the biggest mistake Sam was ever about to make.

"Sam," Mrs, Hannigan called out to him when he was a few feet away, and he swung back to face her, hoping she'd decided to take his permission slip.

"Yeah?"

"Can you tell Mr. Modedey I won't be able to attend the lock-in this weekend. And as there is only fourteen other students beside yourself, it is really not necessary to find a replacement, unless he feels that he and Mrs. Barclay can't handle it by themselves."

"You're not gonna be there?" Sam's grip on the piece of paper in his hand tightened. "Why?" he asked, his voice coming out sounding high pitched and strained.

"Family emergency. I have to go out of town."

"Maybe . . . maybe the lock-in should be postponed until you get back?"

"Nonsense. Mr. Modedey and Mrs. Barclay can handle fifteen students without me being there."

Figuring there was no sense arguing with her, Sam quickly agreed to tell Mr. Modedey, and walked away, heading down the main hallway. At the end, he turned right onto a much smaller corridor, strode past several classrooms, lockers, and other students who'd arrived early like himself, and stopped just outside Mr. Modedey's classroom.

He stood several feet away from the classroom, trying to mentally prepare himself for another confrontation with his teacher. A group of kids strolled by Sam, and Sam noticed Kevin and Brandy walking closely together, their hands loosely clasped.

Kevin bobbed his head in Sam's direction, and leaned in closer to Brandy. "That's Whinychester, the kid who puked all over the hallway the other day." He chuckled, raising an eyebrow at Sam, silently challenging him to say something, but when Sam remained quiet, he taunted, "Hey, loser, where's your big brother to watch out for you?"

"Leave him alone, Kevin," Brandy said, and pulling her hand away from his, she walked toward Sam. "Sorry about him." She smiled, bright blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight streaming through the window, and Sam's heart lodged in his throat. Brandy, turned back toward the others and motioned for them to go on ahead. "I'll catch up in a few minutes."

Kevin glanced at her for a second, and then narrowed his eyes on Sam. "But — "

"Said I would catch up, Kevin, what part didn't you understand?"

For a brief instant, it appeared as if Kevin was about to argue with her, then he shook his head, and muttered, "Whatever, we'll be in the science wing."

After they'd move on down the hallway, Brandy returned her attention to Sam. "My name's Brandy . . . Brandy Stewart," she said, as she tucked a few strands of her long reddish brown hair behind her ears. When Sam failed to respond, she continued on, "Um . . . sorry about the other day . . . I mean, if I made you feel bad . . . I mean the whole puking thing . . . um . . . this is so totally not coming out the way I want it to." She chuckled nervously, pulling her books closer to her chest.

_Damn it, Sam_, _say something to her. Dean would probably already have her phone number and a date for Saturday with her by now._ Sam opened his mouth to speak, but got so caught up in staring at her soft pink lips, parted ever-so-slightly, he forgot what he was going to say, and slammed his mouth shut.

Brandy gestured to the paper in his hand, bit at her lower lip, and glanced up at him. "You're going to be at the lock-in too. Didn't want to go, but my parents are forcing me to. You know the whole good grades are important thing they are always spouting off about. Not a real good student . . . awesome cheerleader, never good at homework." She rolled her eyes, blushing sweetly. "God, I sound pathetic . . . I just . . . well, I um . . . and your not talking, and now I am rambling. So would you just please say something before I look anymore stupid."

Sam cleared his throat, smiling awkwardly at her. _Come on, Sam, you can do this. What would Dean say to her. No, better not go with what Dean would say to her cause she might haul off and punch me in the stomach. _

"You do talk, don't you?" She paused, looking around, and he could tell that she was starting to get frustrated at her failed attempts to strike up a conversation with him. "Would you rather I leave . . . I mean, I could always come back later . . . I'm sorry, I thought . . . well, I kinda was hoping . . . I mean you're really . . . and I thought . . . oh, forget about it, I'll just come back later."

She turned to leave, but only got a few inches away from him, before Sam finally came to his sense. Snaking out his arm, he grabbed hold of wrist, in a loose grip. "Um . . . Sam. My name is Sam." When she stopped walking and turned back to face him once more, he let go of her, and wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs. "It's just that my brother . . . well, you see my brother, Dean, he would've . . . well, that is to say he's kind of an ass, but," Sam scratched his head, "you know what, I don't even know what I'm trying to say."

"Sam," she smiled, and then bit at her lower lip, "always liked the name Sam."

"You do," Sam could hear the high-pitched squeak in his voice, and mentally kicked himself for sounding so stupid. _Damn, if Dean were here right now, I'd never hear the end of this. _

"Yeah."

_Okay, so the most popular girl in the tenth grade likes my name, definitely not a bad way to start the day. _Sam grinned, and for the first time in days, the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach had nothing to do with feeling like he was going to throw up._ And she is talking to me, actually she started talking to me first_. _But she's dating Kevin._ Sam's smile faded at that thought.

"So, you and Kevin, are you dating?" Sam asked, and could've kicked himself for bringing it up. _Oh, great going, Sam, bring up her boyfriend._

"Kevin?" She arched a delicate brow, staring intently at him. "No, well, not exactly. He likes to think we are. But I kinda like . . . ." her voice trailed off as she lowered her head. "No, we aren't dating."

"Oh, um, that's too bad."

_I didn't just say it was too bad she isn't dating Kevin. Please, God, tell me I just didn't say that. _He chanced a glance in her direction, and saw her lips turn downward in clear disappointment. _Yeah, I'm an ass._ "I mean, it's too bad, if you wanted to date him. What I'm trying to say is that it would be bad if you wanted to date . . . I'm so not making any sense here." He smiled awkwardly, trying his hardest not to make a complete and utter fool of himself.

"No, you really aren't."

Sam let out a deep aggravated sigh as he felt sweat beading on his forehead and at the nape of his neck. Nervously tapping his fingers against his thigh, he tried once again, "Look, I'm not good at this. What I really wanted to say was can I have your phone number, and maybe can we go out sometime?" he asked, and held his breath, waiting for her to respond.

"Well, that certainly took you long enough," came Mr. Modedey's voice, and Sam glanced up to see him standing in the doorway to his classroom. "Not the smoothest guy are you, Sam. I was beginning to wonder if you had the guts. I mean the girl was practically throwing herself at you." he turned his attention to Brandy. "Miss Stewart, do you have your permission slip."

Brandy looked from Sam to Mr. Modedey, and back again, before pulling out her signed form letter. "Yeah, here it is." She reluctantly handed it to him.

Mr. Modedey studied it briefly, and then jerked his head to the side, gesturing for her to leave. "Everything looks to be in order. You better get going, classes will be starting in a few minutes."

"But I was talking to — "

"Now, Miss Stewart. I would hate to have to give you detention."

"Yeah, like hell you would," Sam said sarcastically before he could stop himself.

"Mr. Winchester, would you please step into my classroom?"

"I have to get to class." Sam jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Don't want to be late."

"I'm sure you'll hardly be missed." Lyle turned to Brandy, and gestured for her to get going. "Run along before you late."

Brandy gave one last fleeting glance in Sam's direction then turned and headed back the way she'd come from earlier. After she rounded the corner, Mr. Modedey returned his attention to Sam.

"Did you a favor, a pretty girl like her would never want to go on a date with a boy like you." Lyle smiled. "You should be thanking me. Now, I'll take your permission slip, if you have one."

Too angry to say a word, Sam handed it to him, then turned to leave, but Mr. Modedey's next words had him halting in his steps.

"Huh, didn't think John would sign this. You sure you didn't forge it?"

"No, I didn't forge it," Sam said through clenched teeth, trying to remain calm.

"Hmm . . . strange, he didn't seem as if he cared much about your schooling. But, then again, he is only a auto mechanic. Probably doesn't expect you to do much better in life." Mr. Modedey was silent a moment as he studied the slip of paper more carefully, and then added, "So, you planning an illustrious career following in you father's footsteps, Sam? Plan to be a wayward drifter who can't even hold down a simple job like he has. I'm sure your slacker brother would be excellent at it."

Still seething over Mr. Modedey interrupting his conversation with Brandy, and now his continued taunts against his family, something inside Sam snapped, and without warning, he grabbed hold of his teacher and slammed him into the wall. Leaning in so their faces were within mere inches of each other, Sam snarled, "If I hear you make one more comment about my father or brother, I swear to God, it will be your last."

Sam yanked him back and slammed him more forcefully into the wall again and again, startling several students who were passing by on their way to their classes. A few stopped to gawk at them, but so lost in his own rage, Sam didn't even notice.

"Do you understand me? One more word, and I'll tear you a freakin' part."

Cocking back a fist to strike, Sam was suddenly yanked away by a pair of strong familiar arms. "Sammy, stop," Dean ordered, in his most authoritative voice, and then dragged Sam down the hallway away from Mr. Modedey.

Mr. Modedey straightened his suit coat, ran his fingers through his unruly hair, and glanced in the direction of Sam and Dean, a menacing smile sliding across his features. "That a boy, Sammy. Knew you had it in you."


	5. Chapter 5

_So, new update...sorry it took so long to post...been really far behind in everything lately!! let me know what you think!! thanks so much to everyone for reading and for all the aweose reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Five_

"So you gonna tell me what that was all about," Dean asked, ushering Sam into the nearest boy's bathroom, and finally released his hold on him. "Never seen you so angry. Well, at someone besides Dad, anyway."

Sam stalked back and forth in the small expanse, fists clenching and unclenching, furious at his brother for stopping him from pulverizing the miserable excuse for a teacher. "Why didn't you just let me hit him? Just once."

"Huh, so you were tryin to get expelled." Grinning, Dean nodded as he leaned back against the sink. "Should've told me. Hell, I would've slugged him too if I'd known." He chuckled. "We could've opened up a can of Winchester whoop-ass on him. Pretty sure even the principal would've probably rooted us on." Dean threw his head back, deep throaty laughter spilling from his lips.

Stopping in his stead, Sam pivoted to face his brother. "What part of this is funny to you? Cause I gotta tell ya, I'm not findin' the humor in it."

Dean immediately stopped laughing, tried for his best serious face, failed miserably, and started laughing again. "Sorry, dude," he uttered between laughs, "just seein' you slam that guy up against the wall . . . well, you gotta see the humor in that." Playfully punching Sam on the shoulder, he continued, "should've seen his face. Priceless. Bet he doesn't mess with you anymore."

A slow grin tugged on Sam's lips as he thought about the look of shocked surprise followed by something Sam almost likened to fear on his teacher's face. "Yeah, he did seem a little surprised." The tension in his shoulders relaxed and eased away. His brother was right, Mr. Modedey would more than likely think twice before trying to start something with him again.

"So, I guess it's gonna be just you and me this weekend after all."

"What are you talkin' about, Dean? I'm still goin' to the lock-in."

"What?" Dean's expression turned incredulous. "I mean, I thought . . . what with the whole teacher slamfest that you wouldn't be going."

"Told you I had to go. Thought you understood."

Dean's posture tensed, the muscle in his right cheek jerking as he stared at Sam. "Really don't want you to go. Why don't ya just stay home, do some extra credit work if you want, but don't go."

"I'll be fine, dude. You said yourself that Mr. Modedey wouldn't want to mess with me anymore. So I don't see what you're so worried about."

"That's my job, Sammy. An' what with Dad being gone — "

Dean never got a chance to finish what he was saying as the bell for first period sounded, and Sam quickly headed for the door.

"Dean, I gotta get to class, already missed enough time this week. Can't we talk about this later?"

Before Dean could say another word, Sam sprinted out of the bathroom and down the long hallway toward his math classroom.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam spent the remainder of his morning and early after noon worrying about how Mr. Modedey would treat him during AP English. He'd hoped Dean was right and his teacher would back off, but he seriously doubted it. And by the time he entered Mr. Modedey's classroom, his stomach was coiling in tight knots.

Quickly taking his seat, he opened his folder and took out all of his assignments from the past two days, ready to turn them in. Chancing a glance at his teacher, Sam noticed the dark-haired man was flipping through some papers and tapping his pencil on his desk in an overly irritating fashion, seemingly unaware that anyone else was there, although the bell had already rung.

As the minutes dragged on, all around him, Sam heard other students start to whisper and laugh amongst themselves. However, Sam kept his gaze locked on the man who'd made his life a living hell since the first day he'd showed up at the school, waiting and watching just like his father had taught him. Know your enemy. It was one of the first lessons he'd learned from his Dad.

The older man's forehead furrowed as he continuously rapped his pencil on the metal desk, still not showing any signs that he knew anyone else was in the classroom. Finally after several more minutes past without Mr. Modedey saying a word, Sam's classmate, Peggy Masters, timidly raised her hand, and cleared her throat to gain his attention. Mr. Modedey's intense blue-eyed gaze was immediately drawn to the short heavy-set girl in the front row.

Setting down his pencil, Lyle clasped his fingers together, and rested his arms on the desk, leaning forward to give her his undivided attention. "Yes, Miss Masters?"

Under such close scrutiny, Peggy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Well, um . . . . class, it ummm — "

"Are you planning on getting to a point soon, or do I just have to guess at this marvelous little tid-bit of information you wish to impart to the class?" Leaning further over the desk, Mr. Modedey surveyed the room, his attention lingering overly long on Sam before returning it to Peggy. "I'm waiting, Miss. Masters."

Peggy squirmed under his attentive gaze, sinking down in her seat. "It was nothing," she said in a near whisper.

"Do you often make it a habit to interrupt class to make useless comments, Peggy? Or is this just my lucky day?" Lyle smirked. "Maybe if you didn't open our mouth so much, you might be a little thinner now."

Seeing Peggy visibly trembling, and knowing she was more than likely crying, Sam quickly came to her defense. "Think she was gonna say, class started fifteen minutes ago, and maybe if you were any sort of real teacher, you might know how to tell time. Either that or are you in the habit of wasting all of our time while you sit there playing with your . . . _pencil_."

An undercurrent of laughter spread through the classroom at Sam's comment, and Mr. Modedey leaned back in his seat, the smirking grin never leaving his face. "Oh, nice one, Mr. Winchester. Subtle with just the right inflection in your tone as to leave no doubt what you were implying."

Returning his attention back to the class, Mr. Modedey, continued, "We must all commend, Sam, for his attempt at humor and bravery. I mean, it must be so hard for him to even show his face in here after his disastrous attempt this morning to ask Miss. Stewart out on a date. Really quite pathetic." Shifting in his seat to look at Kevin, Lyle further provoked, "And here I was under the distinct impression that you were dating, Brandy, Kevin."

Kevin turned to glare at Sam. "You're so dead, Whinychester," he hissed under his breath. "Wait till the lock-in tonight. No where to run. No big brother to come to your rescue. Just you, me and a few of my close personal friends."

Sam swallowed hard, liking the idea of going to the lock-in even less now that he knew that not only Mr. Modedey was going to be there but Kevin and his friends as well. If Sam didn't know any better, he could've sworn that Modedey had purposely picked people to attend the school function just to further torment him. And whatever part of him that was thrilled at the thought of Brandy being there, and his hopes that he might get another chance to ask her out were quickly dashed.

"Oh, not to worry, Kevin," Mr. Modedey went on to say, "it's not like a boy like Sam as a chance with someone like Brandy." He stared hard at Sam, and Sam's stomach gave a violent lurch. "No doubt she has better taste than that."

Sam hastily covered his mouth, feeling the bile rise in his throat, tasting the remains of his lunch in his mouth. Heat flushed his face as he attempted to swallow away the sickness. An uncomfortable chill prickled at the nape of his neck as sweat dripped down the sides of his face.

He shivered despite his best efforts to remain outwardly calm, not wanting his teacher to have another reason to taunt him, but his sudden pallor was not lost on Mr. Modedey.

"Aww . . . Sam not feeling well again. Must be so hard on you, to be such a sickly child," Modedey said, and Sam could tell he was choosing his words carefully to find the ones that would sting the most. "Must be a real disappointment to your father. He, after all, sets such a glowing example of what a good education, perseverance, and a lot of hard work will accomplish. I literally stand in awe of him."

Modedey drew in deep breath, slowly releasing it, and it seemed to Sam as if everyone in the class held their breath, waiting for the next biting remark to be flung in his direction. Every fiber of Sam's being shook with tightly leashed rage as he clenched his teeth in an effort not to respond to his teacher's comments.

"_But,"_ Modedey stressed the word, making sure he gathered everyone's attention, "I believe you will follow in your brother's footsteps. One could hardly call him a genius. No, definitely not a genius . . . sort of slow-witted." A wicked grin tugged at the corners of his lips, a mirthless laugh escaping. "The term grease-monkey really does seem to apply quite nicely as he is close enough to being that on the evolutionary chain."

"You sonuva — " Sam leapt to his feet, his chair and desk toppled to the ground with a loud bang. Students on either side of him hastily moved out of the way as not to get struck by falling objects or Sam as he bounded across the room toward Modedey.

As he was about the dodge past Kevin, Kevin's foot darted out and Sam stumbled, his face slamming into a desk. Teetering slightly, he came down hard with all his weight on his left knee, and let out a yelp of pain. Tears stung at his eyes as he rolled on his side, and protectively grasped a hold of his injured leg.

"Are you okay," whispered Marianne Rodgers, the girl who's desk he'd struck into on his collision course with the ground, concern clearly etched in her light blue eyes.

"Of course he's okay," Modedey interjected, "aren't you, Sam?" When Sam failed to answer, he added, "Course, I could be wrong. Clumsy children are always getting hurt. Perhaps you should go to the nurse."

"He wasn't clumsy, sir," Marianne stated defensively, "Kevin tripped him. I saw him do it."

Cocking a brow, Lyle eyed the boy with coppery-blonde hair. "Is that true, Kevin?"

Kevin raised his arms out to the sides, feigning a look of innocence. "Don't know what she's talking about, Mr. Modedey. Sam's always been a bit of a klutz."

"You see, Marianne, it was an accident," Modedey said, then returned his attention to Kevin. "Mr. Sanderson, could you please escort Sam to the nurse's office. We wouldn't want an injury preventing him from making it to the lock-in tonight, now would we?"

"No, I'd hate for Sam not to be there. What fun would I have without him."

As Kevin made to stand, Sam shot him a hateful glare then turned it on his teacher. Easing his way back to his feet, he snarled, "Don't need any help."

Slowly, he limped to his desk to grab his bookbag. Not wanting to aggravate his injured knee any further, he snatched up the bag, left his papers scattered all over the floor, and hobbled toward the door, each awkward step sending explosive pain up the length of his thigh.

He'd almost made it out the door when he heard Mr. Modedey clear his throat, and call out to him.

"Sam."

Sam swung back to glare at him, lost his balance, and had to grab onto the door before he fell a second time. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," Lyle hesitated, feigning an attempt at looking sincere. "It's just a shame that you've, once again, failed to turn in your homework assignment. Looks as though I'll be forced to give you another F." He grinned. "Such a pity as I was really looking forward to grading your paper too. See you this evening."


	6. Chapter 6

_So, sorry about the delay, life has someone got in the way of doing what i love the most!! thanks for reading!!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Six_

Dean skipped out of his Industrial Arts class early, in hopes of running into his brother. His being nineteen and still in high school had some advantages, one of which was that his teachers thought of him as more of an adult than a student, and most were impressed that he'd chosen to stay in school instead of dropping out or getting his GED diploma. They'd also made allowances whereas he was concerned, one of which was that if he'd finished what he was working on and wanted to leave, they'd let him as his teacher had today.

As he walked along the long corridor heading toward Sam's AP English class, he wondered what his teachers would think if they'd known he'd purposely failed eleventh grade so he could stay back in school to watch over his little brother. No, that was his little secret, one he hadn't even shared with Sam or his father. Sure, he knew he wasn't as smart as Sam, few people were, but Dean also knew he could've easily passed if he had wanted to. And if in the end, people thought of him as the dumb brother, and it meant that he was still able to stick around to protect Sam from people like Modedey, then he could live with that.

The bell rang, and all along the hallway doors opened, and a throng of chattering and laughing teenagers filled the passageway. Dean waded through the sea of familiar and unfamiliar students, searching for any signs of his brother, yet couldn't find him. Weaving in and out through the crowd, he finally reached Mr. Modedey's classroom, peered inside, and still didn't see Sam.

With his back to Dean, Mr. Modedey hadn't noticed he was there, so Dean took advantage of the situation and glanced around the room. The first thing he'd noticed was the man's full name written on the chalkboard, and stared at it for a long time. _Lyle Owen Modedey._ He let the name roll over his tongue, and found it distasteful. He couldn't explain why, but the name conjured up images of evil hateful things, and his stomach gave an involuntary lurch.

"Lyle Owen Modedey," he said under his breath as he glanced at the man sifting through a filing cabinet, diligently searching for something.

Dean couldn't put his finger on it, but something wasn't right about the man, and it wasn't just the fact that he'd chosen to pick on Sam. Although, if he were to be truthful, it was probably part of the reason, but there had to be more to it than that. Teachers loved Sam like women loved chocolate, and yet for some unknown reason Modedey had made it his business to continually torment Sam.

And then there was whole visit to their apartment, and Modeday's blatant attempts to arouse their father's anger. Dean recalled Modedey's taunting comments to his father as Dean stood hidden in the shadows of the hallway. _Not the sort of man who believes in spooks and demons, are you, John? Not like a simple line of salt could keep out all things evil._ And the more Dean thought about it, the more he definitely saw it as a direct challenge. One that his father had seemingly ignored, but one that Dean could not.

Glancing around the room, Dean spotted his brother's desk and chair overturned on the floor, papers scattered everywhere, and his eyes narrowed, anger ignited.

"Was there something I could do for you, Mr. Winchester," Lyle said, without turning to face him.

"Where the hell is my brother?" Dean replied, his tone low and deadly.

"Huh, not sure. Thought he went to the nurse's office." Modedey finally turned, although he kept his sights trained on the papers in his hand. "Had a little accident. Clumsy boy. But assuredly you already know that as I have heard from all his teachers that he often comes to school with bruises."

"Accident?" Dean took a step into the room, his hands curling into tight fists. "What kind of accident?"

Lyle gestured toward Sam's desk, the papers in his hands fluttering with the movement. "Seems he tripped." Clearing his throat, the teacher pointed at the blackboard, and continued, "Not sure exactly what happen to be quite truthful as I had my back turned writing out my lesson plan for the day."

"My brother doesn't just trip, Mr. Modedey." Dean advanced further into the room.

Lyle finally looked at Dean, his dark, penetrating blue-eyed gaze stopping Dean dead in his tracks. "Well, there was talk of someone tripping him. A boy by the name of Kevin Sanderson. Although he denied it, and as I didn't see it happen, I was left with little recourse."

"Naturally," Dean coolly responded.

"But I was very concerned that your brother had gotten hurt and immediately sent him to the nurse's office. Even offered to have someone take him, but he refused."

"How very thoughtful of you."

"What can I say, it's in my nature to be caring. Some would call it a weakness, but I have real a soft-spot for wayward children. And I feel it's my job to ignite their imaginations . . . set a little fire to their creativity."

Dean looked at the name on the blackboard again, still not understanding why it should bother him so intensely, and then turned back to glare at the older man. "And of course that would include my brother?"

"Sam's a special boy." Mr. Modedey smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Think he has quite a future in store for him, and I just want to do my part to make sure he succeeds."

"I'm sure you do."

Lyle walked to his desk, took a seat, and crossing his arms, looked up at Dean. "Are we just about finished here, Dean? Because as stimulating as this conversation is, I'm sure there must be a car somewhere in need of repair . . . or perhaps a store that needs robbing, and I really wouldn't want to keep you from it." And as if to dismiss Dean, Lyle lowered his head and started grading papers.

Dean stood there for a few more moments, body rigid, face flushing with anger. He opened his mouth to further argue, and then thought of Sam, and how Mr. Modedey might treat him during the lock-in if Dean did say or do anything, and quickly shut it again.

_If I can't get Sam to stay home, then I'm just gonna have to find a way to sneak in and be here as well, cause I'll be damned if I let him stay here alone all weekend with this guy. _Once that was determined, Dean turned and headed for the door. At the threshold, he swung back to face Modedey. He wasn't about to just walk away without letting the older man know that he planned on discovering what secrets he was trying to hide.

"Just want you to know that when it comes to my brother, I'd do anything necessary to protect him. Anything." Dean narrowed his eyes on Modedey. "Do I make myself clear?"

Lyle glanced up from his paperwork, and arching a brow, grinned at Dean. "Thinly veiled threat, Dean. I'm pretty sure that even if I was as dim-witted as you, I would have understood the meaning behind the words." He drew in a slow, deep breath, his intense gaze never straying from Dean's, and then continued, "Besides, he's as safe with me as he would be in his own mother's arms." Returning his attention to grading papers, Modedey said, "Now, if we are finished here, I have work to do."

Dean stood there for a moment longer, processing everything Sam's teacher had said, his steely gaze drawn once again to the chalkboard, and the name on it. He then turned and left, intent on finding Sam to tell him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going to the lock-in that evening.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

After searching the entire school and still not finding his brother, Dean drove home figuring his brother had skipped out on his last class for the day. Upon entering their apartment, he noticed two things right off the bat; the first was that Sam had indeed been there, his clothes strewn all over the couch and in a pile on the floor. The second, and more disturbing thing he discovered was that his brother was no where to be seen.

Throwing his car keys down on the small end table near the door, Dean strode to the kitchen and found a note from Sam laying on the counter. He picked it up and read it once, and then a second time, shaking his head in disbelief.

_Dean,_

_I didn't want to have to go through the same argument with you again about the lock-in._ _Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. If Dad happens to call, tell him I'm sleeping or at the library. He'll believe that. See ya on Sunday. Promise to be careful . . . Sam_

Dean crumpled the paper and threw it in the garbage. "Damn it, Sammy. Why the hell would you do such a stupid thing? Why couldn't you have just waited till I got home?"

Stalking back and forth in their small kitchen, Dean kept eying the note sticking out of the top of the garbage can, his stomach churning as he tried to think of all the possible places his brother might go and wait until it was time for the lock-in, but nothing came to him. One thing was for certain, Sam would definitely not go to any of the places he knew Dean would check first, so that left out the local library and bookstore.

He didn't know exactly when the lock-in started, but assumed it would take place shortly after school had closed for the day. Glancing at the clock, he saw that the school day had ended at least a half hour ago, and let out a string of curse words under his breath.

Quickly going over everything Mr. Modedey had said to him, Dean was certain the older man was bating him. His words were well chosen . . . too well chosen as a matter of fact. It was almost if Modedey wanted him to know something, but also wanted to see if Dean could figure it out on his own.

Grabbing a pen and paper off the refrigerator, Dean sat and scrawled, Lyle Owen Modedey, on the blank sheet of paper. The name stood out stark and formidable against the white of the page, and Dean felt a shiver of panic run down the length of his spine.

_And I feel it's my job to ignite their imaginations . . . set a little fire to their creativity. _Modedey's taunting words rolled over and over inside Dean's mind as he tapped his pen on the wooden table. _Besides, he's as safe with me as he would be in his own mother's arms._

Slowly, he began rearranging the letters of the man's name, crossing out letters as he went along. All he could come up with was a bunch of little words that made no sense, and tossed the paper aside in frustration, think he was on the wrong track.

Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the ceiling for the longest time, trying to make sense of his fears. Maybe Modedey was just what he claimed to be, a teacher, nothing more nothing less. Albeit a bad teacher, but they'd run across bad teachers before, and none of them had set off clear warning bells inside Dean's head.

He continued to stare at the white stucco ceiling, certain he was missing something. Something important, and he needed to figure it out soon.

_Besides, he's as safe with me as he would be in his own mother's arms. Ignite. Fire._

"Oh, shit."

Dean quickly grabbed the piece of paper, and started writing down and crossing out letters until a name formed on the page. His heart dropped into his stomach as sudden stark overwhelming fear for his brother's life enveloped him.

Hastily getting to his feet, he rushed to the phone, and dialed the number his father had left for him in case of an emergency. After several rings, his father finally answered.

"Hello," came his father's gruff voice.

"Dad, it's Dean. I need you to come home now," Dean said forcefully, not about to mince words.

"What's wrong, Dean?" he asked, and Dean could hear the edge of concern in his father's tone.

"It's Sam . . . I need you home now."

His father was quiet for a moment, and Dean could just imagine the look of fear and anger on his father's face knowing that Dean had failed in his job to protect him.

"What happened to Sam?"

"Nothing yet. Please, Dad. I just need you here. You and Bobby." Dean hesitated knowing how furious his father was going to be when he heard that Dean had deliberately disobeyed him and let Sam go to the lock-in. "Please, Sam's in a lot of danger, and I can't do this alone."

"What kind of danger?" His father's tone changed, and Dean heard a slight tremble in his father's voice when he said the word 'danger'.

"Mr. Modedey, Dad. He isn't a teacher. Sam went to the lock-in, and Modedey is gonna be there. And I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean he isn't a teacher?"

Dean brusquely raked his fingers through his short scruffy hair as he tried to think of how to tell his father what he'd figured out. "The name . . . his name . . . it's an anagram. Just figured it out."

"And what did it turn out to be?" his father asked his a heated rush.

"Dad . . . I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I would've never let him go. You have to believe me."

"I asked what it turned out to be. Tell me now, Dean."

Dean swallowed hard, the words he was about to say catching in his throat. "Yellow-Eyed Demon," he uttered in a strained voice. "Modedey's the Yellow-Eyed Demon, Dad. And he has Sammy."


	7. Chapter 7

_so sorry for the long delay, got a little hung up on the details here, but hopefully it was worth the wait. thanks for reading and all the awesoem reviews!! and a huge thanks to all those who really kicked my butt to get moving on this story again!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Seven_

Sam stood in front of the school building dreading the idea of spending the weekend locked inside with not only Modedey but now Kevin and his friends as well. The only bright spot in what he knew was going to be pure hell was that Brandy was going to be there, although he doubted she would even want to speak to him after Mr. Modedey had made an utter and complete fool out of him earlier in the day.

To make matters worse he'd left without saying goodbye to Dean, only leaving a note behind to explain that he didn't want to argue about going to the lock-in and would be home Sunday morning. He knew Dean was going to be furious, but also knew that his brother would have done everything in his power to make him stay home. And in the end, Sam just couldn't face him.

Reluctantly, Sam yanked open the door and went inside. The door slowly slid closed and clicked ominously behind him. He stood at the threshold for several seconds searching the darkened hallway for any signs of where he was supposed to go for the lock-in. Quirking a puzzled brow, he glanced up at the fluorescent lights wondering why they were all out.

For a moment longer, he stood there undecided, not liking the idea of walking through the darkened building alone without any sort of protection. His stomach twinged uncomfortably, all his years of listening to his father's speeches about what lurked in the dark reeking havoc on his nerves. _It's not that dark in here, yet,_ Sam placated himself, however he knew before long it would be, and needed to find out where he was supposed to be before then.

Not finding any signs posted for the lock-in, he figured he might as well head to Mr. Modedey's classroom to find out where everyone was. Hefting his duffel higher over his shoulder, he traveled down the long corridor, listening for the sounds of other kids, but it was eerily quiet. He turned the corner and slowed his pace, seeing a light on in one room up head, and knew instinctively it was Modedey's classroom. The hallway seemed all the darker for that one lone light up ahead, and clear warning bells rang inside Sam's mind.

Glancing around, Sam searched for any other people: janitors cleaning the classrooms, teachers working late, or anyone else who should still be there, but saw no one. _This isn't right. _He nervously drummed his fingers against his thighs as he took one last look around. _There has to be other people still working. They couldn't have all gone home yet. _

_Trust your instincts. You know what's out there lurking just out of sight. Better to be wrong than dead. _His father's words came to Sam at that moment, and something inside Sam told him there was something definitely wrong here. Quickly doing an about face, he headed back toward the front doors.

Half-running, half-limping, he rushed down the hallway toward the doors, and once there he tried to open one of the sturdy wooden doors but it wouldn't budge. Using all his strength, he yanked even harder, but the door held firm. Quickly checking the three remaining ones, he found they too were locked.

With his heart hammering away in his heart, Sam whirled and spotted the pay phone. Without the slightest hesitation, he darted toward it. Quickly fishing some change out of his pocket, he started dialing, but got no further then the first two numbers when he spied Brandy heading toward him. He hung up the phone and waited for her to approach.

"Sam," Brandy called to him when she was within a few feet of where he stood. "You know where we're supposed to go?" She tucked a few strands of her long reddish-brown hair behind her ears, smiled sweetly at Sam, and gestured toward the way she had just come from. "All the lights are out down there, you'd think they would've left them on for us."

"Th-there out down that way, t-too," Sam uttered, stumbling over his words, and sounding like a complete bumbling idiot, as he looked into her startlingly clear blue eyes. Noticing she was struggling with her duffel and small suitcase, Sam quickly took her duffel and hefted it over his shoulder, and grabbed for her suitcase.

"I got it, Sam," she tried to argue, but smiled all the same when he took the suitcase from her. "Kevin would've made me carry it myself, one of the reasons I've never really wanted to date him."

"One of the reasons?" Sam repeated, suddenly feeling hopeful.

"Yeah, one of the reasons." Her grin deepened as she turned and headed in the direction Sam had just come from. "Wanna know the other one, Sam?" she called back over her shoulder.

It took all of two seconds for Sam to forget about his own concerns and his father's warning, and he rushed to catch up with her. "You wouldn't want to . . . what I'm tried to say is . . . well, I mean you're really beautiful." Sam cursed under his breath, feeling like a complete idiot. "Not that beautiful has anything to do with it . . . I mean there's lots pf pretty girls." He groaned, knowing that he was only making matters worse, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from speaking. "Gonna stop talking now before I make a complete ass out of myself."

"Seems like it's a little too late for that, Mr. Winchester," came a voice from directly in front of Sam, and he glanced up to see Mr. Modedey smirking at him. He glanced at his watch, and shook his head as he gestured toward the classroom. "Late again, Sam, and now making Miss Stewart late as well."

"He was late because of me," Brandy quickly defended, "I told him I thought we were suppose to meet in the cafeteria."

"Oh, how sweet," Mr Modedey jeered, "Little Sammy has a girl defending him." He raised a brow, and looked directly at Sam, and for a split second Sam could have sworn he saw glimmering golden flecks in his teacher's blue eyes. "Course, Sammy always has someone looking out for him." He turned on his heel and motioned for them to follow, and after seeing Brandy enter the classroom, Sam reluctantly went in as well.

"You're brother, Dean, stopped by here today, Mr. Winchester," Lyle continued as he gestured for the two of them to take a seat. "Seemed very interested in the blackboard for some reason. Can you think of any reason why?" he asked as he stood right beside his own name written in chalk on the board.

Kevin leaned over from his desk, and taunted, "Awww . . . Lil' Sammy Whinychester needed his big brother."

"That'll be enough, Mr. Sanderson." Lyle crossed his arms, and for the first time since he'd taken over has their English teacher, he glared at the bully. "Don't think I recall asking you to speak."

"But — " Kevin started to speak only to have Lyle cut him off.

"Did I not make myself absolutely clear?" He raised his hand and tightly clenched his fist, and Kevin grabbed at his throat, coughing and gagging.

"Kevin!" Brandy leapt out of her chair when Kevin continued to choke, but Sam scarcely even noticed as he continued to stare at the name written on the blackboard.

"Dean's a lot smarter than anyone really even gives him credit for," Mr. Modedey chuckled as he tapped on the board, "left it up here all week long. You saw it every damn day, an' yet it only took Dean one time to figure it all out."

"An anagram," Sam mumbled, now rearranging the letters in his mind. "Lyle Owen Modedey," his and Brandy's duffels slipped off his arms and fell to the floor as realization finally struck him, "Yellow-Eyed Demon."

"Ding . . .ding . . . ding, give the boy a prize." Lyle's ominous laughter filled the room as he twisted his wrist, and a sickening crack came from Kevin's direction, followed immediately by several screams. "Ahhh . . . been waitin' to do that since the moment I walked in this door."

Swallowing hard, Sam glanced in Kevin's direction, and nearly lost the contents of his stomach when he saw the bully's neck ripped wide open, jagged bones stick out of his throat. Brandy was on her knees beside the dead boy, blood covering her cream-colored sweater and blue jeans. Splatters of blood dotted her face as tears spilled down her cheeks. The rest of the kids in the classroom had all backed away, and now were hovering near the windows, trying to get them open.

"Let 'em go," he muttered, numbly gesturing toward his fellow classmates, "let 'em all go, an' you can do whatever you want to me."

"I could," Lyle said as he watched the students throwing books and chairs at the windows in an attempt to break them, "but where would be the fun in that?"

"You sonuvabitch, what the hell are you gonna do to them?" Sam ground out, his anger suddenly ignited as he thought of all the innocent lives in danger because of him.

"Not me, Sammy," Lyle laughed, "you . . . you are gonna decide who lives and dies here."

"What do you mean?" Sam clenched his fists to hide the fact that were shaking so badly, and took a step toward the demon.

"You've got the whole school . . . loads of good hiding places . . . all kinds of things that would make really good weapons against any kind of creature. So let's see how well Papa Winchester taught his youngest son in a good old fashioned game of hide-n-seek."

"You want to play a game?" Sam asked incredulously.

"It's all a game, Sammy," Lyle said as he glanced at his watch. "Good versus evil, right versus wrong. It all depends how you look at it, but life really is still just a game where only the strongest survive."

"An' the rules?"

"Why ruin the fun with rules?" The demon gestured toward the clock on the wall, and then looked Sam squarely in the eyes, his own eyes now shimmering golden. "You have a half hour to hide, find weapons . . . do whatever it is you plan on doing, then I come after you and your friends."

"How do I win the game?" Sam asked, not seeing anyway he could possibly beat the demon.

"You survive till morning." Lyle glanced at his wristwatch again, and smirked. "You're time starts now, Sammy, better run," he warned as he looked at each student in turn, "just to be fair, I should also tell ya there may be a few surprises along the way."

"What kind of surprises," Sam asked as he edged toward the door and motioned for the others to follow.

"Awww . . . Sammy, they wouldn't be surprises if I just went an' started spouting them all off." He chuckled again, eyes alighting with humor. "But just so you don't think me unfair, I'll grant you one request."

"Want Dean here," Sam said without the slightest hesitation.

"Thought you might say that," Lyle said as he took a seat behind his desk. "On his way as we speak. I'll make sure there's one way for him to get in. He finds it, an' you have your wish." he leaned back in his chair and rested his head against laced fingers. "Better hurry now, times ticking away, an' I've been known to be real punctual."

Hearing Dean was on his way, brought both hope and fear to Sam's heart, but he didn't have time to consider which was more prevalent as he rushed out of the classroom with all his classmates following after him.


	8. Chapter 8

_So sorry for the really long delay in this story... I have been giving this story my full attention over the last several days and have completed several chapters and hopefully by the end of the week i should have it completed...thanks so much for reading and for all the awesoem reviews...bambers;)_

_Chapter Eight _

"Dean," came John's steady voice over the phone line, "Listen to me, I need you to keep a level head, an' do exactly as I tell you. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Dean, immediately tamped down his growing fears and reverted to hunter mode. If he was going to save his brother from the demon, he needed to outsmart the creature and couldn't do that if he gave into his rising panic. "What do you want me to do?"

"Gather up all the weapons you can find . . . An' I mean anything you think will have some affect on that sonuvabitch. Iron, rock salt, holy water, any herbs you can think of, an' grab my journal. There's an exorcism in there that should work. Then you get your ass down to that school an' you protect your brother till we get there."

"Dad, what if I'm . . . ." Dean's voice trailed off, terrified that he was already too late to save Sam from the demon. "I've never fought a demon before . . . I – I don't know what to do," he stammered, voice once again filling with fear for his little brother's life.

"Consider this a crash course," his father snapped, his harsh tone leaving little doubt that he solely blamed Dean for Sam being in danger. "Me an' Bobby will get there as soon as possible, but you're gonna have to hold him off until we do."

"I swear I won't let him hurt Sammy, Dad," Dean vowed then hastily hung up the phone before his father had the chance to say anything else.

For several very long moments, Dean stood motionless as panic welled deep inside him. A shiver of fear raced down his spine as he tried to think of anything he could use to repel a demon, but for some reason he couldn't hone in on anything that might be useful. _He stepped right over that damn salt line, walked right into our apartment like it was nothing. _He scratched at his head as he glanced around the small expanse of their kitchen. _Holy water . . . Damn it, it's gonna take a helluva lot more than just a little flask of water to fight that thing off with. Herbs . . . which herbs repel demons? _He swung around and eyed the cupboards. _Damn it, which ones? Cloves? Angelica . . . St. John's Wort . . . yeah, definitely St. John's Wort. God, why the hell was I so freakin' stupid? I shouldn't have let him go. Hell, I signed his permission slip, no wonder Dad blames me._

Spurned on by those thoughts, Dean flew into action, gathering everything he could think of to use to fight the demon off with, and then heaved it all into his duffel. Certain that he probably forgot something important, he glanced around the apartment one more time, but not finding anything useful, he bolted out the door.

The relatively short drive to the school seemed endless, and by the time he'd reach the school's side parking lot, Dean was a shaking, nervous wreck. He'd gripped the steering wheel so tightly that now the muscles in his shoulders and back were throbbing, and he knew if he didn't take a breather, he would do something foolish that might cost his brother his life. Taking several slow, calming breaths, he tried to devise a plan as to how he could get inside the building undetected.

"Damn it, he's got to know I'm coming," he cursed as he stared at the sprawling two-story structure. "He practically gave me an open invitation to join him, an' I was just too damn stupid to see it."

Dean slid out of the Impala, snatched his gear off the front seat, and sprinted around to the back of the building. There were two back entrances to the school, one near the science wing, the other near the English hallway. Low windows ran the length of the building, any one of them would usually make for fairly easy access inside the school, but Dean highly doubted getting inside would be as simple as smashing a window or busting down a door.

He peered up at the roof, noticed several roof top units, and knew there had to be some sort of roof access into the building. Quickly skirting the building, Dean came to the hilly area that led up to the second floor of the school. In the far corner stood a brick structure, covered over with a think cement slab. Dean scrambled up the hill and climbed on top of the small outbuilding. Beneath his feet there was steel grating, and as he looked down he noticed water in the darkened room below. At the edge of the small structure, there was a drop off into a gully where there was a storm drain that apparently filtered into the room. An angular gate was attached to the roof, and although it was obviously meant to keep kids off the roof, it actually made for easier access.

Dean tossed his duffel onto the roof, then reached out and grabbed hold of the metal pole, and pulled himself across onto the roof. After a quick glance around to find the building access, which he spotted fairly quickly, he snatched up his duffel and sprinted to it, and was somewhat surprised to find that the hatch wasn't locked.

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Dean looked around once again as he tried to think of what would await him below. If Yellow-Eyes had left this entrance unsealed there had to be a reason for it. _It's a trap . . . It's gotta be a damn trap. _For a few more seconds he contemplated trying to find a different way inside, but in the end he knew he didn't have any other options. Sam was inside with the demon, and was running out of time.

"Damn it, Sammy, why the hell did I let you go? Dad said no. I should've listened to him." Guilt weighing heavily on his heart, Dean yanked the hatch open, and slipped down the ladder into the darkened building. With his heart in his throat, Dean snatched his gun out of his waistband, and crept out of the maintenance area and into the hallway.

Lacking the usual sounds of kids clamoring from one class to another, the building was eerily quiet. At the very least, Dean thought he would have heard the sounds of the kids who had come to the lock-in, but the entire school remained deathly still and silent, and that set his nerves to trembling once again.

_Stop shaking, Dean, this isn't your first damn hunt, _he reminded himself repeatedly as he cautiously looked into several empty classrooms. _But it is my first hunt alone. _Nagging doubts crept into his mind, momentarily paralyzing him as he peered around the corner, and noticed a single light coming from a classroom at the far end of the corridor. _I've never hunted a freakin' demon before. I'm gonna screw this up royally, an' Sam's gonna . . . . no, Dad taught me everything he knows . . . Yeah, but he just skipped right over what I should do if I ever had to face Yellow-Eyes on my own._

Steeling himself against his rising fear, Dean wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, and then proceeded forward toward the lighted doorway. Each slow and measured step he took closer to the classroom, brought more waves of fear and unparalleled panic crashing down over him. His heart beat painfully loud inside his chest. A tight knot formed in his throat making it almost impossible to draw in a breath.

As graphic images of Sam splayed out dead on the ceiling, with blood dripping from deep slashing wounds in his chest and stomach, inundated Dean's mind, he hesitated at the classroom before Modedey's. His legs trembled so violently, he was certain they would give way at any given moment, and he would crash face first to the ground. Stomach churning in protest, he closed the remaining gap. With gun drawn and at the ready, he cautiously peered inside the classroom, and saw the demon sitting at his desk with head lowered.

The demon's head suddenly snapped up and with a single glance in Dean's direction, the young hunter was abruptly thrown backward into the lockers. His gun flew from his hand to slide across the tiled floor.

"Hey there, Dean." Yellow-Eyes smiled. "I've been waiting for you." He slipped out of his chair and sauntered toward Dean.

"You sonuvabitch, where's Sammy?" Dean snarled as he jerked and twisted against the cold, steel lockers he was pinned to, trying to dislodge himself to no avail.

"Don't know, really don't care." The demon's malicious smirk widened as Dean's brows narrowed in confusion. "Oh, don't be so upset, Dean, you were smarter than all of them. You just weren't as smart as me."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"Guess there's really no harm in telling you everything now." The demon shrugged, the grin never faltering from his features as he went on to say, "Sam, well, he was just the bait. I was really going for a much bigger prize this time." Gripping hold of the sides of Dean's face, the demon dug his nails into Dean's cheeks as he tilted his face from side to side as if appraising him. "In case you're still a bit slow on the uptake, I was talking about you."

"Me?" Dean's brows furrowed even more, certain that he had somehow misunderstood what the demon was saying to him.

"Yeah, it really gives you that warm tingly feeling all inside, doesn't it?"

Dean swallowed hard, feeling as if he had entered into the conversation late, and was now struggling to play catch up. "I don't understand."

"See, this was all a little game of sorts. I wanted to find out who was most important to Sam. Who he couldn't live without. An' you know what, Dean? When I told him I'd give him just one thing, he asked for you. " He hesitated as if for dramatic flare before adding, "So in a way, you might just say your brother is the one who killed you."


	9. Chapter 9

_lol...totally forgot to post this chappy...sorry about that. I blame it on my kids cause they are slowly making me lose my mind...thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Nine_

"Sam what the hell was that thing?" Brandy hollered as Sam grabbed hold of her wrist and practically dragged her down the hallway. Yanking free of his grasp, she came to an abrupt halt. Her clear blue eyes widened with fear as she looked back over her shoulder, then refocused her attention on Sam. "That thing . . . that . . . I dunno what it was, he just ripped Kevin's head clear off, an' he didn't even touch him."

"Brandy, we really don't have time for this. We've only got a half an hour an' he'll be comin' for us." Sam tried to grab for her wrist again, but she jerked away from him.

"I'm going home, he can't keep us here against our will."

"I'm with Brandy," a kid with short spiky hair ran up behind Brandy, stopped short and butted in on their conversation, "I say we get the hell outta here an' call the police." Several other students nodded their heads in agreement, and rushed toward the front entrance of the school without waiting for Sam, Brandy or the spiky haired boy. "Come on, Brandy, let's get out of here."

"You can't get out of here, Brandy," Sam warned. Glancing at his wristwatch, he cursed under his breath. "Please, just come with me, he's gonna kill you if you don't."

Brandy eyed Sam for a moment longer, and then shook her head. "I'm sorry, Sam. Brad's right." And with that said, Brandy and Brad took off after the other students, leaving Sam behind.

"He's not gonna let you guys out of here," Sam tried to argue as he picked up his pace and followed them. "You're just wasting time we don't have."

As he approached the entrance, he heard kids rattling the doors handles, slamming their fists against the glass, and throwing anything they could manage to get their hands on at the doors, but they held firm. Slowing in his steps, he watched as panic rose amongst the small group, and they started throwing themselves against the study metal doors. A kid who was a little taller and almost twice as broad as Sam, repeatedly slammed his foot into the glass, but no matter how many times he tried, the glass remained intact.

Three boys Sam recognized from the football team, grabbed the bench near the entrance, and then shouted for everyone to get out of the way. Taking a running start, they slammed it full force into the doors, but only managed to break the bench in the process.

"Listen to me!" Sam shouted above the chaotic din created by the terrified students. "We only have fifteen minutes left before he comes looking for us." Done with mincing words with people who had no idea what they were actually dealing with, he further added, "So you can either stay here an' die or you can come with me, an' maybe make it out of here alive. The choice is yours, but I'd suggested you make it quickly cause when he comes after you, he will rip you all apart."

"Can you really get us out of here?" Brad asked as he stood protectively in front of Brandy. "I mean, this thing is obviously after you, so why should we follow you?"

"He's right," The tallest of the three football players said, and his friends nodded in agreement. "Maybe if we give you to him, he'll let us go."

"An' maybe he'll rip your freakin' head off like he did to Kevin," Sam snarled, raising his fists, prepared to fight them off if they should try to do as the stupid football player had suggested. "We have to fight him, an' I'm the only one here who knows the first thing about doing that. So I'd really suggest you listen to me."

"Charlie's right, Winchester," a short dark-haired football player uttered in complete agreement with his friend. "You're not one of us. You just showed up here one day an' brought nothin' but trouble with you. I say we hand you over to him."

"They're right," A girl with dark curly hair, who Sam knew from gym class spoke up. "I don't wanna die. I'm sorry, Sam," she uttered through her tears. "But if we don't do like Charlie says, that thing'll kill us all."

"I don't believe you guys," Brandy finally broke into the conversation, pushing past Brad to stand beside Sam. "This freak kills Kevin right in front of your eyes, an' you wanna bargain with it?" She laced her fingers into Sam's, and held onto his hand firmly, although he could feel her trembling as she tried to put up a brave front. "So I'm going with him, an' if that bastard kills you all it's no more than you deserve."

"No one has to die," Sam tried to reason, although at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to leave them all to face Yellow-Eyes on their own. "We go to the science wing an' find everything we can that might repel a demon. If we can just hold it off till morning, we can get out of here."

"That's just great, you got it all figured out, don't ya, Winchester?" Charlie sneered, pinning Sam with a hateful stare as he came to stand within mere inches of the youngest Winchester. "Brandy, what makes you so damn sure he's not one of those damn things himself?"

"Funny cause I was just thinking the same thing about you," Sam countered with a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The Yellow-Eyed demon had said he had some surprises in store for Sam, and the young hunter now wondered if that meant there were other demons inside the school pretending to be students.

"We don't have time for this, Sam," Brandy reminded him as she bobbed her head in the direction of the science wing. "We've got less than ten minutes before he comes to find us, so if you know what we should do, then just show us." She turned to glare at their fellow classmates. "An' if anyone of you thinks you're better off on your own, then you can just stay here an' figure out a way to save yourselves cause I'm going with Sam."

For several very long moments, everyone looked to each other as if waiting for someone to disagree with Brandy, but finally every student grudgingly agreed with her. With that settled, they all raced toward the science wing with Sam in the lead followed closely by Brandy and Charlie.

As they turned the corner and headed down the science wing, Sam rattled off a list of things they would need to make the room they would stay in secure. "We're gonna need rock salt, a black marker, any herbs you might be able to find, an' water."

"Water?" Charlie slowed his pace, and quirked a dark brow. "What the hell are we gonna do with water? Have a water war with him?"

"Pretty much," Sam shrugged, a smirking grin on his face. "I'm gonna bless it, an' then we can use it against him."

"Didn't know you were a priest, Winchester." Charlie chuckled as he once again picked up his pace and scurried into the chem lab.

Once everyone was inside the room, they all scattered and began tearing the room apart searching for all the things Sam had said they needed. Sam hurried to the sink, plugged the drain and turned on the faucet. Once it was filled to the top, he twisted the handle to turn it back off again.

"Does anyone have a cross?" he shouted to gain everyone's attention, and the girl from his gym class ripped off the gold Celtic cross she was wearing around her neck and tossed it to him. "Thanks . . . umm . . . ."

"My name's Patty." She cast a quick smile in his direction, and then resumed searching through the cabinets.

"Thanks, Patty." Sam felt heat rise to flush his face, feeling somewhat embarrassed that he had never taken the time to learn her name.

Dropping it into the water, he quickly recited the Latin blessing his father had taught him. "Exorcizo te, creatura aquæ, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in nomine Jesu Christi, Filii ejus Domini nostri, et in virtute Spiritus Sancti: ut fias aqua exorcizata ad effugandan omnem potestatem inimici, et ipsum inimicum eradicare et explantare valeas cum angelis suis apostaticis, per virtutem ejusdem Domini nostri, Jesu Christ: qui venturus est judicare vivos et sæculum per ignem."

"Brandy, Brad," Sam called out, immediately gaining their attention. "Gather together as many beakers and stoppers as you can find, fill them with the holy water, then hand them out to everyone."

"I found the rock salt." Charlie hefted the large bag over his shoulder, and hurried over to where Sam was standing. "So what am I supposed to do with it?"

"Line the doorway and all the windowsills with it. An' whatever you do, make sure they are no breaks in the line."

"Gotcha."

Sam darted around the teacher's desk, threw open the draws and shuffled through the contents until he found a black marker. Rushing over to the door, he dropped to his knees and began drawing one of the intricate sigil's Bobby had showed him how to make. Once finished, he ran to the closest corner of the room, and drew another sigil, then worked his way around the room until all four corners were secured. He glanced up at the clock when he was finished and swore under his breath, noticing they were out of time.

"Time's up, Sam," Brandy uttered, drawing Sam's attention to her. "It's just too bad it's up for you." Her blue eyes shifted to glimmering black.

Sam's attention was momentarily diverted from her as he looked to the sink still full of holy water, and then his gaze traveled around the room and noted that Charlie hadn't placed the salt lines in front of any of the windows or the door. From there he looked to all the other students in the classroom, and a sea of black eyes peered back into his own.

"See, Dad said he had a few surprises for you, Sammy." Brandy sauntered forward and lightly trailed her fingertips down his cheek. "Course this probably seems like a bit more than a few, but Dad, well, he just loves to change the rules."

With a feeling of revulsion coursing through his entire body, Sam jerked back away from her touch. "Wh-who the hell are you?"

"Me?" Brandy jabbed a finger toward her chest, and arched a sardonic brow. "Why I'm daddy's little girl, thought you would've figured that much out by yourself." She clucked her tongue is a tsking manner as she slowly shook her head in disappointment. "An' they said Dean was the dumb one . . . it makes me wonder just how stupid your brother really is."

"What happened to Brandy an' the others?" Sam asked, slowly edging himself toward the sink.

"Oh, she's up here." Tapping at her temple, Brandy laughed. "An' if it makes you feel any better, she really did have a crush on you."

"Let her go," Sam hissed as he backed up against the sink with all the demons surrounding him. "Let her an' the others go, an' take me instead."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Sammy. You see I broke her up pretty bad inside, an' I just don't think she'd survive without me."

"You bitch." Sam cautiously slipped his hand backward toward the holy water.

"Sticks an' stone's, Sam, sticks an' stones." Her hand unexpectedly shot out, and she gripped hold of Sam's wrist. "Don't really need a shower at the moment, I took one this morning right after killing Brandy's parents."

"Why don't ya jus' kill me an' get it over with," Sam hissed as he tried in vain to break her hold on him.

"Oh, we don't wanna kill you," Charlie now spoke up, "We just wanna keep you here for a bit, give Dad a little time with your brother . . . maybe mess up that pretty face of yours, but kill ya, naww . . . we have no intention of doing that."

"Dean?" As soon as the word left his lips a shiver of fear raced down his spine as he recalled Yellow-Eyes saying he would grant him one request, and he had foolishly said he wanted Dean there with him.

"Yeah," Brad chimed in, "seein' as how he's the one person you can't seem to live without, Dad decided he's probably the one person you'd pretty much do anything for."

"Hurt my brother an' there'll be no where you can hide from me." Sam spied the sigils he had drawn on the floor and a plan slowly began to form in his mind. If he could just get out the door they wouldn't be able to follow. Of course he knew it wouldn't be as simple as pushing past them and leaving under his own steam, but if he could just somehow manage to make them angry enough, they might throw him in that general direction.

"Oh, is this the part where we should start shaking, Sammy?" Brandy taunted.

"No," Sam abruptly jerked free of her grasp, and slammed his fist into her face, knocking her back onto Charlie's arms. "This is the part where I bitch slap the hell out of you."


End file.
